Page 24 of Beauty and the Cop
"Then why'd you say it?"
"I thought we covered that under 'I was an asshole'?" He shoves a hand through his hair like he's stressed. "I don't know why I said it, sweetness. I was tired and irritable, and I took it out on you when you're the last person who deserves it. I felt like an asshole as soon as I said it."
"You really hurt my feelings," I whisper.
"I know. I know." He steps toward me, reaching out for me. I bite my lip as he reels me into his arms, wrapping them around me until I'm pressed up against his chest. "I'm sorry."
I don't know what happens or why, but as soon as I feel his arms around me, I choke on a sob. It's like everything just crashes down on me at once, and I can't fight off the tears this time.
"Baby," he says, horrified as he pulls back to look at me. "Please, don't cry. I'm so goddamn sorry."
That just makes me cry harder. It's not even his fault, not really. Yeah, he said something shitty. Yeah, it hurt my feelings, but that's not really why I'm in my feelings today. It doesn't really have anything to do with him at all.
But I can't explain that. I'm too busy snot-crying into his shirt to explain. When I try, I just choke on the words.
He hauls me closer, swinging me up into his arms like I'm a little girl as he stalks toward my sofa. He sits with me in his lap, and even though I know I should move, I just curl into him, letting him hold me as I cry.
"It's okay," he croons, rubbing circles against my back. "I'm so sorry that I'm an asshole. You deserve to be treated like a queen, Dimples. I should have told you this morning that you're perfect. That's what you deserve to hear."
I'm not sure if he means it, but the biggest part of me hopes he does.
Eventually, I cry myself out. And then I just sit in that awkward post-meltdown silence, not sure how to explain why I fell apart. Emotions are such a pain in the ass. They're messy and complicated, and it's a whole uncomfortable thing most of the time.
"I'm sorry," I finally whisper, still not looking at him.
"Don't apologize to me," he groans, sounding pained. "I'm the one who fucked up, not you."
I lick my lips, trying to work moisture back into my mouth. "It's not your fault. I, um, today is my dad's birthday."
"Shit." He goes rigid beneath me. For a second, he just sits there, every muscle locked tight, and then he crooks a finger beneath my chin, forcing me to look at him. The regret and guilt in his eyes make my chest hurt. "I'm so sorry, baby."
"I know. You can stop saying it now." I sigh quietly. "I was more upset about the day than about what you said. My mom and I always spend his birthday at the cemetery. We take him flowers, and we eat cake, and just sit there and talk to him. We're just…together, you know? Even after she got remarried, we still kept up the tradition. It's always been our day to remember and celebrate him. But now…"
"Now, you're here," he finishes softly, wiping my damp cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.
"Yeah. Now, I'm here. It's the first time I haven't been there. I guess it just hit harder than I thought it would."
"Me being an asshole didn't help."
"It wasn't just you. A student flipped a desk today."
"What the fuck?"
"I busted him watched porn in the middle of class. He was mad about getting caught and took it out on me." I huff out a breath. "Like it's my fault he decided he'd rather screw around and be stupid than use his brain."
"Did he hurt you?" Noah growls, his voice dropping an octave.
"No, of course not. He just had a little meltdown. We had to call his parents in for a meeting. They're pissed—at him, not at me. He may be expelled." My shoulders bounce in a shrug. "It was a shitty day."
"How can I make it better?"
"Kiss me."
I don't know why I say it. Honestly, I don't. The words just tumble out without me even thinking them. They're raw and desperate, like I need his lips on mine more than I need air. And maybe that's true. Maybe it is what I need.
I think it's what I've needed since I saw him standing on my porch holding a plate of cookies. But I don't know how to say any of that—just like I don't know how to tell him that he hurt my feelings this morning because I've been falling for him for weeks.
He groans, a broken, desperate sound. I expect him to tell me no or give me a laundry list of reasons why he shouldn't kiss me right now. I'm sad, not delusional. I know kissing him when I'm emotional and vulnerable has bad idea written all over it. But, even if I hadn't just cried all over him, I'd still want it.
