Page 105 of Falling for Mr. Wrong

Bronte shook her head, hoping her friend didn’t see the quiver in her lip.

“Are you sure there’s nothing?”

“I don’t think so.” Bronte hiccupped in a breath and stood, reaching for a tissue. One tissue turned into two and then three, and she tossed them at the garbage can, missing it by a few inches. After picking them up to throw away, she fixed her glasses on her nose, turning her attention back to Rachel.

But Rachel wasn’t five foot nine with bulging arms and legs meant to wear dark ripped jeans.

It was Chris.

Standing in her classroom.

She gaped at him for a moment before finding her words. “What are you doing here?”

His mouth quirked up in the corner. “Detention.”

She pinched herself on the wrist and closed her eyes. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d dreamed of him.

“I’m here, Bronte. I’m real.”

Opening her eyelids, she found him a few feet closer. “Wh— How? I’m… Is this what a stroke feels like?” She leaned against her desk to support her shaky legs and moved one hand to her throat, searching for her pulse. “I think I’m having a stroke.”

“You’re not having a stroke.” He took two more steps closer, and she swore her pulse thudded to a complete stop. His black V neck showed off the contours of his chest. The same chest that she knew was tattooed with words for her. He was clean-shaven, his sideburns gone, his hair cut short on the sides and long on top, waving into a dangerously attractive curl on his forehead. If she didn’t know better, she would have assumed somebody dressed him to look this good, but no, it was his natural state.

And it was completely unfair.

She hadn’t dried her hair that morning, and her wrinkled purple shirt didn’t match the pastel orange skirt she wore. She looked like a drunk Easter egg and would’ve been embarrassed if the shock of him in front of her hadn’t overpowered every other possible emotion.

He raked his gaze over her, from head to toe, and when his dark eyes met hers again, they softened. “I had to see you in person when I told you that you were wrong.”

Bronte could barely wrap her brain around the fact that Chris was here, let alone blaming her. “Huh?”

“You fit in. You fit with me.”

She struggled to grasp what he was saying through her astonishment and confusion.

“The best day of my life was the day I met you, and I’ll be damned if I let you get away without putting up a fight.”

“You want us to be together?” She squeaked out the question since she hadn’t heard a word from him since he dropped her off at the airport.

He frowned. “Of course I do.”

“But how— You’re…you?”

He closed the gap between them, and Bronte stood up straight. “I got caught up trying to hide you from my insane life, and then I tried so hard to make you love that life, I forgot we already had one. My life is with you, wherever you are. You’re my home, Bronte.”

She swallowed down the lump in her throat, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest.

“After you left, I didn’t go to work for two days.”

“What? Chris, no, you didn’t—”

“I know.” He shook his head. “Wes covered for me, and they were able to rearrange the schedule, but they did worry. Dante, and the producers, they took a chance on me, and I disappeared for two days.”

Bronte huffed out a breath. “You can’t do that. When you’ve been working so hard to prove you aren’t like that anymore.”

“I know. I know.” He took hold of her hands. “I was out of my mind for you. I had trouble getting it together, but then Wes came over and kicked my ass in gear.”

“Maybe he should come over here and kick mine too.”

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