Page 37 of I Can't Help It

Everything about his body language screams highly uncomfortable.

Huh, I guess he hasn’t fully recovered yet. That’s not my fault though. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just trying to make some conversation!

I hate this…

“Thanks,” I tell him, leaving my phone on the couch as I stand up. “I’ll go ahead and unpack now.”

He rolls my suitcase closer to me, and I ensure that our hands don’t make any contact when I take it from him. I wouldn’t want him to pass out or—

“Ava.” His voice is hesitant as he lightly touches my arm. “Are we…good?”

Well, I know I’m not.

I turn away from him and heave my suitcase onto the couch so I can sort through it. “What do you mean?”

But I know dang well what he means.

“It just feels like you’re frustrated,” he replies while I unzip my suitcase. “Frustrated with me.”

And once he says that, my façade of indifference crumbles like the walls of Jericho.

“Of course, I’m frustrated!” I huff, whipping around to face him. “I keep thinking there’s something between us, but then I second-guess myself all the time because I don’t know if you actually feel the same way! It’s incredibly frustrating!”

Ahhhhh, crap. What the heck did I just do?

Luke looks absolutely mortified as his eyes study mine. “Ava…”

Right then and there is when realization sinks in.

My worst fear—besides mutant spiders existing in real life—has come true.

“You don’t feel the same way.” I hate how small my voice sounds.

“I didn’t say that.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just—I can’t, Ava.”

“You can’t?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “Like, you can’t have feelings for me?”

What the frick does that even mean?

“Exactly,” he says with a firm nod. “I can’t have feelings for you.”

This conversation is going horribly. I’ve had better talks with my dentist about my lack of flossing and signs of gingivitis.

“But why not?” I follow him as he rolls his suitcase over to the bed. “Is there someone else?”

The possibility makes me want to gag.

“No.”

And then he tosses his suitcase onto the bed before unzipping it.

Just no? That’s it?

“Are you sure?” I press, desperate for more of an explanation. “Because if there’s someone else—”

“There’s not,” he cuts me short, setting a folded stack of clothes on top of the bed. “There isn’t someone else.”

While I’m relieved by that, I still need to know why he apparently can’t have feelings for me.

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