Page 38 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
“Endorphins,” Alex says, but something’s missing in his voice. His usual sense of humor is gone, replaced with an undercurrent of tension.
That’s . . . weird. Maybe I’m reading into it.
I wash down my last bite with a sip of coffee. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Fine,” he mutters, his gaze glued to the table.
Has he looked at me even once this morning? Dread settles around me like a wet coat. Something’s definitely wrong.
“Are you okay?” I meekly reach out to brush the back of his hand with my fingertips.
Alex almost flinches away before he seems to make the decision to take my hand firmly in his. I’m trying to decipher his serious expression when he finally makes eye contact, his gaze stormy.
“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice flat and emotionless.
Okay, I’m definitely not reading into it. My stomach drops. “Of course.”
The muscle in Alex’s jaw ticks like he’s gritting his teeth. I brace for impact.
“I think last night was a mistake.”
The word mistake crash-lands on the table between us. Bracing didn’t help. I’m stunned.
“A mistake?” I repeat the words numbly. “It seemed to me like you had a good time.”
“I did.” He sighs, squeezing my hand.
I pull back, knotting my fingers in my lap. I don’t want his pity. I want an explanation.
“And that’s the problem,” he says. “I always do this. Jump in without thinking about the consequences. Anything for a good time, right? But then my impulsiveness bites me in the ass. It always ends the same.”
Blinking rapidly, I try to process it all. Where has this come from? “What are you saying, Alex?”
“I’m saying that last night was a one-time deal. It won’t happen again. It can’t.”
I saw it coming, but that doesn’t take away the sting of his words. I break away from his penetrating gaze and opt to stare out the window. “Well, isn’t that convenient. You get to make all the decisions, and I get to live with all the regret.”
Alex shakes his head. “I don’t regret it, Aspen. Not one bit. And I hope you don’t either, but I can’t tell you how you should or shouldn’t feel.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m trying so hard not to be an asshole for once in my life. I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“And what’s the right thing?”
He opens his eyes, pinning me in place. “I want to be your friend, Aspen. Not your fuck buddy.”
“So, you didn’t like fucking me?” The word feels stilted and unfamiliar on my tongue. But it packs a necessary punch.
“Of course I did. Fuck, Aspen. Last night was . . .” He trails off. It was a lot of fun. Really.”
Fun. I guess that makes me the girl you have fun with once, and then immediately discard. Good for a one-night stand and nothing else. What did I expect?
I bite my lip, blinking back hot, angry tears. I will not cry. I’ve dealt with rejection far worse than this, so I will not cry. Especially not in front of him.
Alex’s chair creaks as he slumps back. “I’m sorry. Really, I am.”
“Fine. If that’s what you want, then it’s fine, Alex.” I don’t know how I manage to say that so evenly, but I do. Even though the weight of all these tears I refuse to cry may crush me.
A long, excruciating pause stretches between us before he speaks again. “Thanks, Aspen.”
Alex clears his side of the table quickly and quietly before he leaves the room, muttering something about the guesthouse and clogged gutters.
I almost want to yell after him, Good. You should probably stay in the guesthouse anyway. But all the wind has already been knocked out of me, and I don’t think I could speak right now, even if I wanted to.
I try to keep my mind blank, washing the dishes by hand and scrubbing every possible surface of the kitchen until it’s squeaky clean. Then I move into the pantry for today’s task—taking inventory and throwing out anything that’s expired. Between the clatter of canned goods being tossed in the trash, Eden’s words ring hollowly in my mind.
“He’s trouble, Aspen. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”
Who did I think I was, questioning her advice? Eden was the person closest to Alex for five freaking years. She knows him better than anyone, and me? I’ve barely known the man five minutes, and I trusted him with my . . . well, with everything.
“I want to be your friend, Aspen. Not your fuck buddy.”
I check the expiration date of a can of tomato soup, but my brain is so rattled, I don’t even know what year it is anymore.
Alex said he was trying to do the right thing. Why does the “right thing” have to be abstaining from really awesome sex? I finally allowed myself to trust my gut, to take what I want, and this is how it works out for me? Old Aspen was on to something with her impossibly high walls and unshakable professionalism.
