Page 89 of Overdue I Love You's
There’s a subtle pang of avoidance in my nerves, but I ignore it. “This whole time, I kept thinking you…”came here for me. “But boy,” I knead my neck. “I waswrong.”
“I never lied to you.” It comes out sharper than I’ve ever heard his voice get.
I snort, “Okay, yeahsureyou didn’t.” Walking back and forth between the island and the counter, I knock once, twice, a third time on the marble before pointing an accusing finger at him. “You telling me to pick you and then running off to pick someone else isn’t lying,okay. Nice to know where your morals stand.”
He fists his handMr. Darcystyle. “You never let me explain what happened.”
“Because I’m not sure there’s anything for you to explain?—”
“I choseyou.” He’s in front of me. He was there and now he’s here, simply a brush away, we’re a breath away from our chests touching. “Every night, I’ve been choosing you.”
A knot untangles in my chest or maybe I’m confusing this relief with the hardened twitch in my jowl. “Except for that night?”
“No,” He alternates looking at my left and right eye, then mymouth, then my nose, my cheek, everything. He’s figuring me out—trying to understand how to fix this. “I picked you even then.”
“Then…” I take a step back, hugging myself.
“It was scripted.” He quickly takes up that space. It’s as if he found the courage to speak and is afraid to lose it. “I didn’t know until they announced it in front of everyone.”
“You couldn’t tell me this then?”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I tried to tell you.”
“You didn’t try enough, Dean.” If he had stopped me, really tried to speak to me despite me acting like a spoiled brat and walking away, we wouldn’t be in this position. We’ve been walking on eggshells with each other, and it’s been what? Four weeks, almost? I’ve lost track of time, but the point is… We could have been… And maybe before Katarina, I’d have known Dean’s favourite flowers.
Why don’t people try when it comes to me? The second I’m in any situation that involves communicating or putting effort in, people walk away like speaking to me takes away all their energy.
“Any girl would have been angry at that moment, but you haven’t once tried to explain again, and it’s been four days.” I say it quietly, losing every sense of myself. Feeling the sharp pain in my body resurface and become apparent again.
“Does it matter?” Dean turns his body away from me.
His posture goes lank. A silent sign of giving up.
Quietly, “Being honest will always matter to me.” I see him and I don’t know what overcomes me. The way he looks like he needs to be comforted or the way my skin tingles to touch him. I grab his arm, turning him to face me. “You have to understand, Dean, that even when it’s hard to tell someone the truth about how you’re feeling, you have to. Otherwise, they’ll misunderstand you.”
He eyes the touch. “I’m used to it.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be.” I drop my hand. The spot on my palm shivers, quakes, electrifies—whatever other adjectives there are—from the physical contact.
“Are we okay now?” It’s gentle, questioning, and commanding all at once.
Rubbing a finger over my brow. “Yes, we’re good.”
“Then you won’t pick Rhys.” Hope creases his tongue.
“Dean, I…” Looking away, “Maybe it’s best if we keep this professional. You’re my client—might as well be considered my boss—and it’s unethical on so many levels.”
He looks at me through his long lashes, eyes darkened. Raspy and rough, “Professional?”
It’s slow, yet I don’t see it coming.
He takes a small step closer and closer, until my back hits the counter. Both hands come down on either side of me.
A shiver runs down my spine. I tell myself it’s because I’m cold. “That’s what I said, yes.”
He leans down. A featherlight touch of his finger slowly runs up my arm. “Does anything about this feel professional to you?”
My breath hitches. “Dean?—”
