Page 67 of Cherry Beats

“Say something,” I urged.

“But you still promised to never open the door to me again?”

“I…” had nothing at all to say to that. “Yes.”

“Is that what you want?”

My head fell into the palm of my hand again. “Honestly?”

“No, lie to me. Yes, honestly.”

“I don’t know what the hell I want right now.”

“At least that gives me something to work with. Now, I’m going to ask you to do me a favour.”

“What kind of favour?”

“If Dicky, my publicist Julia, or anyone at all asks if you told me any of this, you’re going to say no.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Because you just broke my fucking heart a little bit, Cherry. I think it’s the least you owe me, don’t you?”

My own heart cracked hearing the pain in his voice, but I nodded anyway, even though he couldn’t see it.

“For what it’s worth, I’m not feeling too great right now, either, Presley.”

“You know what your trouble is? You’re no good at being this girl—the girl who feels something good. You’re happy being the girl who jokes behind the bar, sure. The one who can look from afar, but always has a barrier between her and everyone else. The girl who watches everyone else get what they want. You’re even good at being the girl who walks around my apartment naked, talking about music and having a one-night thing. You’re good at temporary happiness, Cherry, but you’re shit at thinking about what might happen if someone chases you for more. You’ve never had it. You don’t know how to have it. You sure as shit can’t even begin to imagine letting yourself fall for someone properly because the last thing you want to be is like your own father—so wrapped up in love and being obsessed with someone, you can’t see who the hell you are anymore.”

He may as well have punched me in the stomach. I was that winded.

“And yeah, sure, I could go out into the world and get someone else. Hell, there are a hundred girls in this hotel room right now willing to fall to their knees and take turns at sucking my dick.”

“Presley—” I croaked weakly.

“But they don’t match up to what I see in you. They don’t have your shy-but-somehow-cocky smile or those bright green eyes that make my dick harden the second I look into them. They don’t have your sass, your wit, or your intelligence. They can’t hold a breath never mind a damn conversation the way you can. They don’t hold my interest. They don’t make me want to stay because they don’t taste like you, they don’t smell like you, they don’t quiver and tremble like you. They don’t moan like you, and they sure as hell don’t feel like you when I’m inside them. So, if you want me to keep hunting, searching through hundreds more of these women until I find someone that even comescloseto making my mind explode the way you do, I’ll keep trying. I’ll never knock on your damn door again. You’ll never have to answer anything from me. Or you can finally just give in and accept the fact that, three years ago, you had one night to make me feel something more than I’ve ever felt with any other woman in my life, and you went and did it. I fucking feel something. I feeleverything.I’ve not been shy about that. In fact, I feel so strongly about you that I actually respect you, and, if you wanted it enough, I’d walk away from you just to keep you happy. I’m alreadydoingthat right now, aren’t I? Leaving you the other night damn near broke me, so you don’t get to sit in that apartment of yours, second-guessing my intentions, my emotions, or thinking up of plans to keep me away, or thinking you know me better than I know me… because you don’t. You never will. Every word I speak is the truth, and it’s about time you believed that.”

Fuck.

“The ball’s in your court, Cherry. But I’m warning you… I’ll only keep trying for so long.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something honest. You let me know when you figure out what that is. Your move.” And with that, he ended the call, just as the first stupid tear feel down my red cheek and bled over the lip of my mouth.

Goddamn drummer boy with his poetic words, hands of destruction, and that honest heart I somehow held the key to.

Chapter Eighteen

Something honest. Right. I could do that. I went through a list of truths in my mind.

Who hangs up on a woman after just saying those things to her? An arsehole, that’s who. And that who is YOU, Presley West.

You’re a shrivelled dick for saying that I’m scared of being like my dad. Correct. But still a shrivelled dick. How did you figure that out before I had?

I once put vinegar in one of your date’s wine glass, and then I watched every sip she took, and I laughed inside every time she curled her nose up at you, and you frowned back, totally confused as to what her deal was. That was a fun night.

But every time you left BB’s with a woman, a little piece of me would die inside.

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