Page 18 of Claimed By the Bookstore Alpha
"I'm fine.” But he took the bag. "Thank you."
Him putting distance between us was confusing and painful. If he cared about me, which I was sure he did, why was he pushing me away?
“Listen.” A couple had entered the store and were browsing the new releases display. "Can we talk later after you close?"
He clenched his teeth and I winced. “That's not a good idea."
If he’d punched me in the stomach, it wouldn’t have hurt more than those words. "Why not?"
"Because..." He glanced at the customers, then back at me. "Because I think we might be moving too fast and we should slow down."
“Slow down?” Shoot, that was louder than I intended and the couple reacted to my voice. But after a month of seeing each other, he wanted to slow down. "I don't understand." Now I was almost whispering. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No." His response was immediate. “This isn’t about you."
Was he going to give me the “It’s not you, it’s me” run around? "Then what is it about?"
My heart tightened making it difficult to breathe because there was pain in his gaze. But before he could answer, the customers approached the counter with their selections. I stood awkwardly while Flynn processed their purchase, his professional demeanor taking over despite the tension radiating from his shoulders.
The people left and I told him I should go too. There was no point when he was pushing me away without an adequate explanation.
He nodded and didn’t meet my eyes. "Yeah. Okay."
I made it half way to the door before glancing over my shoulder. “Whatever this is about, we can figure it out together."
We were so new but deep inside me, I was convinced we were destined to be together. Maybe that was silly.
For a moment, Flynn's controlled expression cracked and what peeked through was longing. Or that was how I interpreted it, though maybe I was wrong.
"Some things just don’t work out. Maybe we’re incompatible."
Incompatible? The word echoed in my head as I walked home and my belly churned not from being hungry but with sadness and confusion. What could possibly be incompatible about us? We liked the same books and made each other laugh. I’d thought we looked at the world in the same way.
The next few days passed in a blur of unanswered texts, and I avoided eye contact when I walked past the bookstore. I threwmyself into writing, but even my characters seemed to mock me. They were all about happy endings and true love conquering all.
By Friday, I was coming apart at the seams. I couldn’t concentrate, I had no appetite and I cried whenever I thought of Flynn.
And then I started feeling sick.
It began as a vague nausea that I attributed to stress, not eating and too much coffee. But it got worse, accompanied by fatigue that no amount of sleep seemed to cure. I called in sick to a school visit I'd been looking forward to and spent the day curled up on my couch with a bucket nearby.
"You look terrible," Miranda said when she stopped by with soup.
"Thanks. That's exactly what I needed to hear."
"I'm serious, Clark. When's the last time you ate something that wasn't crackers?"
I considered the question. "Tuesday?"
"It's Friday!"
"I know what day it is." I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders. "I haven't been hungry."
She sat beside me and her expression morphed from teasing to worried. "This is about Flynn, isn't it?"
I'd told her about him putting distance between us, though I'd kept the details of our sex life private. "I don't know what I did wrong."
“Have you considered that he’s scared?"
