Page 92 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“You keep saying this will ruin everything,” she whispers. “Why?”
I step back just enough to breathe. “Because I’m not good at this. Any of it. Relationships. Trust. Letting someone close.”
She tilts her head. “You’ve had girlfriends before.”
“Not really.” My laugh is short and bitter. “A few women, here and there. It never sticks. I don’t let it.” I rake a hand through my damp hair, still tasting her on my lips. “Every time I let someone in, I end up on my ass. People leave, or they want more than I can give. I’ve gotten good at making sure no one sticks around long enough to hurt me.”
Juliet studies me, her brow drawn tight. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It’s easier than the alternative,” I say. “On the ice, I know who I am. Off it… I don’t. If hockey disappeared tomorrow, I wouldn’t know what the hell to do with myself. That terrifies me.”
Her breath hitches. “You really think there’s nothing else?”
“Nothing that matters the same way,” I admit. My chest feels raw, scraped clean. “The game is all I’ve got.”
Silence stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then she lifts her chin. “So you stay where you know who you are. I get that.”
I narrow my eyes. “What about you? Why’d you stay with a guy who didn’t respect you?”
The words hit her like a slap. She stiffens, then forces herself not to look away.
“Because I was trying to be the person he wanted me to be.” Her voice cracks but she pushes through. “I kept thinking if I was perfect enough, he’d finally see me. But then he cheated. And thank god he did, because it woke me up. It made me look at my life and realize I was wasting time.”
I can’t stop staring at her. “He cheated, and you still thought it was on you?”
“Not anymore.” She swallows. “But yeah. Back then, I built everything around him. My days, my choices, my whole damn self-worth. And when it fell apart, I had nothing left except this drive to prove I mattered. I needed to prove it to everyone.”
I grip the counter to steady myself. She’s baring herself to me in a way I’ve never seen. It feels unfair that she trusts me with this when all I’ve done is push her away.
“You’re not wasting time now,” I say.
Her eyes glisten. “I hope not.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The air between us is different now. Heavier, sharper. My body still aches to touch her, but my chest aches harder. I want to tell her she deserves more than scraps from assholes like Patrick. I want to tell her she deserves someone who sees her, all of her, even the parts she hides.
I whisper, “You matter, Juliet.”
Her breath catches. She leans toward me, her fingers brushing my shirt again, but this time we don’t kiss. Her lips part like she wants to say something else, but then her fingers curl in my shirt and she pulls me back in.
We kiss hard this time. Dirty. My hands slide under her shirt, mapping the curve of her waist, the soft skin just above her ribs. She’s warm and perfect and everything I shouldn’t want but can’t stop thinking about.
I pick her up and set her on the counter. She wraps her legs around my hips immediately, pressing against me like she needs this just as badly as I do. The friction makes me groan into her mouth.
We both know this can’t keep happening. We both know it’s going to complicate everything we’ve worked for. But neither of us stops.
We’re supposed to be enemies. So why can’t I stop kissing her?
I hate that I can’t walk away from her. Hate that I’ll be replaying this all night when I should shut her out of my head.
Her hands tangle in my still-damp hair, pulling me closer. I can taste the mint from her lip balm. I can feel the rapid beat of her pulse under my thumb where it rests against her throat.
“This is crazy,” she whispers against my lips.
“Completely insane,” I agree, then kiss her again.
Eventually, she pulls away, lips swollen and pupils blown wide. We’re both still breathing hard, still touching, my hands on her thighs and hers gripping my shoulders.
But reality crashes back in. I step back, putting space between us before I do something we’ll both regret.
