Page 89 of The True Love Experiment

Are you up?I text him.I hope so because I’m on my way over.

I don’t wait for a response. I don’t stop to think. I shove my phone into my purse, stuff my feet into my shoes on the way out, and don’t even bother to lock my front door.

Outside his place, I climb out of my car and look up at his dark porch, dark windows.

I’m here, I text.

Nothing.

I call but it rings, and rings, finally going to voicemail.

This is when I have a brief internal meltdown. It’s Sunday night. I think Stevie’s at Nat’s because Connor came to the wedding with me, but what if he picked her up today? I don’t want to wake her with a Romance Heroine Banging on the Door move, but if his phone is on silent I could pace out here at the curb until morning and he’d never know I was here. How do people in books and movies make their big-feelings confessions when there are potentially kids fast asleep in the house!

I tilt my face to the sky, groaning. Real life is so much harder!

There’s nothing to do but text again.Hi. Yes, I really did drive over here at midnight. Please tell me you’re up.

Finally, after I stare menacingly at my phone for a good thirty seconds, three dots appear. My heart leaps into my throat.

Just saw these. I’m up.

His porch light goes on as I jog up his walkway. Connor opens the door, leaning a shoulder in the doorframe. Does he know howgood he is at this? No one leans like him: with patient confidence, one hand tucked into a pocket, one foot crossed over the other.

He has my favorite soft hair falling over his forehead, a gray crewneck sweatshirt, faded and worn jeans, and bare feet. But most of all, it’s justhim, the whole package: the solid mass of his body and his kind eyes and full mouth and the sharp line of his nose. Our eyes meet, and even with the carefully guarded wariness I see there, I think it would take an approaching semi truck to get me to look away.

Connor gives me a quiet “Hey” before he steps back, letting me in.

“Hey,” I say when he turns to face me, shutting the door behind us. The air between us warps with heat. I want to sink to my knees and worship him. I have never in my life felt such attraction or such devotion.

“I’m glad you were up,” I say, breathless—I hope from excitement and not the jog up eight steps to his porch.

“Sorry, I had my phone on silent.”

“It’s okay.” I can’t catch my breath. Bending, I put my hands on my knees, sucking in air. “Sorry, I think I’m just nervous.” I straighten, finally getting my bearings. I’ve written this scene a thousand times but, wow, it is way scarier to live it. “I have two things I want to say,” I tell him.

“Okay.” He swallows, lifting his chin. “Let’s go sit.”

An excellent plan: apologies first, confessions second, sex third.

I lead us into the living room and sit in the middle of the couch, patting the space beside me. He eyes it for a beat before sitting, butit’s hard to miss the way it feels like he’s trying to keep as much distance between us as he can.

“I’m sorry about the way I left,” I say immediately. I’m even more desperate to get this out of the way now given his strained body language. Connor is tall and muscular, of course, but always carries himself like someone in a much smaller frame. I’ve never been more aware of his size before.

Well, now and when he wasactually lying on top of mewith his giant—

Focus, Fizzy. “I freaked out,” I say, regrouping. “You saw it, you called it. Infidelity is a hard limit for me.”

There’s only one lamp on, behind him, and it leaves his expression in shadow. “I know.”

“But I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed and taken a minute to figure out what I want to say, and it’s this: I feel awful for Natalia. But also for the anonymous woman who didn’t realize she was part of a young guy’s kamikaze mission. Who probably thought she was just having the luckiest night of her life.”

“I think about her a lot.”

My heart melts a little. “That woman was me once, and not only did it break part of my heart, but I had to reckon with being another woman’s heartbreak, too.”

He could tell me,For what it’s worth, she didn’t know I was married, but he doesn’t. And even if it’s true, I appreciate that he isn’t trying to defend himself. He just listens, absorbing this.

“I’m sorry I reacted that way,” I say.

---