Page 126 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
I have to be her everything, or nothing at all.
“M’kay, you’re doing your silent smoldering thing, so I’m just gonna go ahead and talk, and you can be over there all broody and non-sharey to your heart’s content.”
“Exactly how much alcohol did you drink?” I say, worried.
“I want you.”
She says it with total disregard for my question, with an abruptness that borders on curt, and with a dark, solemn tone that makes it clear she’s completely serious.
Suddenly I’m no longer concerned about her alcohol intake.
“I want you because you’re smart, and you’re funny, and you’re talented, and you respect your mother, and you make me feel capable of murder, and flight.”
“Flight?”
“When you kiss me, I feel like I grow wings. It’s a cliché, but it’s true, so bear with me.”
I understand exactly what you mean.
“I want you because I’ve never met anyone who challenges me like you do. Who looks at me like you do. Who makes my heart stop beating the way you do when you walk into a room.”
The tightness in my chest is back with a vengeance. It’s in my throat, too. I have to struggle to draw a single breath.
We sit in silence for a while, until she adds, “Also, your hair is incredible.”
Now I can’t help but smile. “You’ve been talking to my mother.”
“I really like her.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
I chuckle. “She’s an acquired taste. But worth it.”
“Totally. Moving on.” She hiccups. “I have many more compliments for you if you’d like to hear them.”
God, she’s adorable. And completely drunk. “I’d like to hear you drink a large glass of water, take aspirin, and go to bed.”
Her voice softens. “Why don’t you come over and put me to bed?”
The thought of her lying naked in her bed makes me groan.
“Was that a yes groan or a no groan?”
“It was a groan of frustration.”
“Drive over here and be frustrated. We can be frustrated together. Until we’re not.” She giggles.
“I can’t be a rebound,” I say, my voice thick. “I can’t be a placeholder or a crutch until you get your life together. I meant what I said: you need time—”
“What I need is for you to stop telling me what I need and get your ass over here,” she cuts in. “What I need is to kiss you and apologize and tell you all about how I was plotting to crash your show at Fashion Week.”
Cue the sound of squealing brakes. Crash my show?
“Yeah, it was dumb,” she admits sheepishly when I don’t say anything. “I was gonna make Brad wear a really pretty dress I’ve been working on—hopefully Jenner and some of his model friends, too, but he wasn’t on board yet—and get up on the catwalk with a sign around his neck that read Moretti Sucks Balls. Or something like that. I hadn’t exactly figured it out yet.
“But you broke up with me, and I realized it was a stupid plan and it wasn’t revenge I wanted, it was you. And the way to get you probably didn’t involve making a scene at your show.”
