Page 81 of The Situation
She’s on a date? Aurora? What the fuck?
“She left here about twenty minutes ago,” Tally says. “There was just enough time for her to run home, get cleaned up, and then get to Caesar’s by six.”
The way she says each word makes it clear she’s intentionally dropping information.
I really, really like this girl.
“You know what? Forget the number,” I say, my brain two steps ahead of her. “I’ll contact Aurora another way.”
“I think that sounds like a great idea, Mr. Brewer. You should do that.”
I smile. “Tally?”
“Yes?”
“Go home. You’ve gone above and beyond today.”
She laughs as I end the call.
ChapterEighteen
Aurora
The light turns green, and I press on the accelerator so slowly that the car behind me honks.
I flip my visor down and squint into the low-hanging sun. The warmth feels good on my face and casts a positive glow around me. Too bad it doesn’t work to rid me of the negative thoughts rolling through my mind.
Mostly … guilt.
I press my lips together as I make a right-hand turn.
I don’t owe Tate anything, and I’ve also been clear about not wanting anything. But that’s the problem. I’m not certain that’s wholly true anymore.
“You mean, aren’t you more trouble than you’re worth?”
My palm smacks against the steering wheel.
How can he see right through me? And how much longer can I pretend he doesn’t have a key that unlocks the box where I hold my deepest fears—a key he seems to want to use?
He’s wrinkled my plans and made me question everything I thought was true. It’s uncomfortable. It’s concerning. But it’s also impossible not to acknowledge the effort he’s putting forward.
“Why won’t you give me a chance, Aurora?”
I pilot the car into Caesar’s parking lot and find a spot near the door.
A lump settles in my throat. “I don’t know Tate. I don’t fucking know anymore.”
Isn’t he objectively everything I’ve dreamed of in a man?He’s emotionally intelligent and kind. Patient. Respectful. He sees me and makes me feel like I matter. And, my God, can he make me come.
“What’s really happening here?” I ask, turning off the car. “Why the hell am I going on this pseudo-date when everything I want is a phone call away?”
The answer trickles into my mind like a dark cloud.
Because I don’t know how to handle him.
The realization makes my stomach woozy. My palms sweat. That single sentence cuts through the fog in my brain like a knife.
I don’t know what to do with Tate. It’s really that simple.What happens when the answer to your prayers, the embodiment of your dreams, actually materializes? How does that work?
