Page 93 of Heartbreaker
When we should separate, we don’t. His grip tightens on my wrists, and his other hand trails down to my side to my waist, giving it a gentle squeeze as he leans in close again.
“You lose.” His words come out breathless, and if one of us moves even the slightest, our lips will touch. We’re toeing a dangerous line, and if we’re not careful, there will be no going back.
Make the move.Do it.
Before I can, Brooks sits up. The movement flexes his hips, grinding him against me. It draws a moan from deep within me.Fuck. That small movement throws jet fuel on the fire.
“John.” His name is strangled on my lips as his eyes blaze above me. I’m sure mine mirror the same look of want and need. I wiggle my hands against his grasp, desperate to touch him, but his hold only tightens. He only stares down at me, and just when I think he’s going to do what I know we’re both craving, he does the opposite.
Without warning, Brooks pushes up from the mat, stumbling back a few steps. I suddenly feel cold from the loss of his warmth.
“Shit,” I hear him say under his breath. He scrubs a hand down his face. “Savannah, I’m—I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have suggested this. I shouldn’t...” I watch him begin to unravel before my eyes, and I feel the cracks form in my own armor as it happens. This isn’t his fault. I could’ve said no.
“Brooks,” I say, sitting up.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to…We don’t have to go to dinner. I—”
“John.” I step in front of him, bringing an abrupt halt to his pacing. I take one of his hands in mine. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. We were just…practicing. That’s it.” I wait another minute before giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m—I’m gonna go. Are you going to be okay?”
He nods, peeling his hands from mine and stepping down on the middle rope. That’s his way of telling me to leave. Suddenly, I feel like I’m back in that hallway, and he’s telling me the only way he’ll let me go is if I tell him I don’t love him. I don’t move, hoping that this time it will be different. I’m desperate for some connection to him, but he refuses to look at me. His gaze remains glued to the wall on the other side of the gym.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask before I step through the ropes.
He clears his throat, nodding, but still stares into the darkness that surrounds us. “Tomorrow.”
The clock reads a little after seven o’clock. I tap my phone screen, where two unread messages await a reply, neither from the person I was hoping for.
I haven’t seen much of him since our tussle in the ring on Wednesday night. He’s had singles matches while I tag-teamed withRoxanneall weekend. Not that I minded—she debuted not long before I left, so it’s been fun getting to work with her. However, since I wasn’t slated to be ringside, Brooks and I had no reason to see each other, and I had no way of talking to him about what transpired a few nights ago. It’s become obvious that he’s taking full advantage of my scheduled absence. I didn’t anticipate feeling so let down by his lack of communication, but it’s been bothering me since he turned heel and walked the other way Thursday night when he spotted me from down the hall. I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Raelynn mentioned it last night on our drive from St. Louis to Chicago.
And again this afternoon.
“Are you expecting a call or something?” she asked when I looked at my phone for probably the tenth time since we sat down for lunch. “You’ve been checking your phone every ten minutes since we woke up this morning.”
I brushed her off, trying to change the subject because I wasn’t about to tell her what happened the other night. That would lead to a completely different conversation…one where I’d have to admit that maybe, just maybe, I missed him.
I wasn’t ready to come to that realization…nor did I want to admit she was right. Ihadbeen keeping an eye on my phone all day, waiting for the text that I knew wasn’t coming. Brooks had quickly dismissed his victory, saying we didn’t have to go to dinner, but he’d won, and the terms were clear. I don’t think he expected me to let him win.
And I did…Let him win. I’d never let anyone win before, but being there…in that ring…pinned beneath him…I’d never wanted anything more. He’d taken the first step, and I knew letting him win was the only way to start fixing what I’d broken.
“Screw it,” I say.
If he isn’t going to break the silence, I will. What do I have to lose? It’s not like I can lose him. Less than a minute later, his response appears on the screen.
He doesn’t answer this time, and I have no choice but to take his silence as acceptance. If not, then I guess I’ll be taking myself out to dinner.
A large hand wraps around my wrist, pulling me back from the revolving door of the brick building, and the familiar earthy scents of blue cypress and vetiver fill the air around me. Blue and green lights cast a cool glow on his features as we stand beneath the neon sign. His thumb grazes the sensitive skin of my wrist, and the simple action makes my heart race.
“Wasn’t sure you were going to show,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. Since we met over ten years ago, I have never been nervous around this man. However, being so close to him right now, not knowing where we stand, makes my heart beat at an uneven pace and my head spin.
“Neither was I,” Brooks says. He looks handsome, dressed in black slacks and an off-white button-up with the first two buttons undone. I recognize the cufflinks as the ones I bought a few Christmases ago—silver studs with an eagle imprinted in the center. His thumb stills but applies a small pressure to my pulse point. Leaning in to whisper in my ear, “But as you said, I won, and you’re hungry.”
I laugh, hearing my words from earlier, and for the first time since his arrival, Brooks smiles. Maybe we can do this. Maybe we can move forward.
He motions for me to go ahead, and only when we reach the revolving door does he let go of my arm. His touch is light against my back when he joins me inside, but it disappears just as fast. The host leads us through the maze of tables to a more secluded area in the back of the restaurant.
Within seconds of our arrival, a man dressed in a full suit appears with a thousand-watt smile. His graying hair is combed back into the same sleek style he’s always worn. Danny Alcott. “My two favorite people!” He claps his hands together before pressing the back of my hand to his lips. He extends his hand to Brooks and pulls him into an embrace. Danny is one of the managers here—has been for as long as we’ve been coming—and always finds a spot for us on the books (even when there isn’t one).
“Danny, thank you so much for squeezing us in,” I say.
