Page 80 of Blindsided

I drop my face into my palms with a groan. “I know… But for the first time ever, Matthew was mine. He was with me because he wanted to be. Not because he happened to be hanging out with Desmond. I hear how childish that sounds, but after years of crushing on the man, I wasn’t thinking all that clearly.”

“Not to mention you were living your greatest fantasy.” Mom winks.

My cheeks heat. “Mom!”

“I’m teasing. Sort of.” She giggles.

I scrub my face. “How do I fix this?”

“I’m not sure, honey. Desmond is hurt, but to be fair to you, freezing you out wasn’t the answer either. You might just need to give him time.” She runs a loving hand across my shoulders. It’s not what I wanted to hear, but I also understand what she’s saying. I hurt Desmond, and while he hurt me with his words, I still have to own up to what I did.

Mom drops a kiss on my cheek before she walks out, leaving me to stew on my own. I keep going over my decision to hide my relationship from Des. Would I have done it differently? I don’t think so. I know without a doubt that if we had told Desmond we wanted to date, he would’ve done his best to ruin it. Matthew and I would’ve started our relationship on a sour note, and I truly believe we wouldn’t have been able to build a solid foundation with Desmond’s disapproval hanging over us.

I start to get out of bed. If I’m going to keep brooding in here, I’m going to need more snacks.

When I turn toward the open door, I find Desmond leaning against the doorjamb. His brown hair is disheveled, and his hazel eyes are almost as tired as mine are.

With his arms crossed, he looks defensive, but I know him better than that. His stance is a front for all the hurt and sadness lingering under the skin.

“I was about to go get some snacks. Sit down over there, and I’ll get some for you, too.”

“I’m not hungry,” he rumbles.

“That’s too damn bad.” Triumph fills me when Des’s mouth twitches like he’s holding back a smile. He moves away from the doorway, and I rush out to fill a plate full of whatever I can find.

It’s mostly junk since Mom went a little overboard on the comfort food, but I’m not going to complain.

With two full plates, I start back toward the bedroom when Matthew stops me. His eyebrows rise, his unspoken question obvious.

“Desmond is ready to talk. I think,” I whisper.

“Apologize, but don’t let him walk all over you, pretty girl.” Matthew presses a quick kiss on my lips. Whether it was his intention or not, his advice bolsters me enough to head back to the bedroom with my head held high.

Desmond is already sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard as he scrolls on his phone. I walk around to the other side and sit the plates between us. I plop down at the foot of the bed to face him head-on. He’s not going to get out of looking me in the face while we talk.

I dip a chip into the bowl of salsa while Desmond grabs a cookie. I can’t decide if I should start or if he needs to get his own hurts out first. Most of what I want to say, I’ve already said to him. This time, I should probably let him talk first.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. It’s stilted and awkward, and I finally decide to say something.

“If I would have brought up dating Matthew when I went back to Westlake, what would you have said?”

“That you’re an idiot, and my best friend is an asshole if he’s going to take advantage of you that way.” Desmond’s response is immediate and exactly what I predicted.

“Explain why it would have been taking advantage of me.”

“You were in the middle of a crisis, Tilly. Your stalker had been terrorizing you, and Matthew should’ve been there to support you. Not pop a boner.”

I snort. “Nice.”

He shrugs, not at all apologetic for his depiction of his best friend.

“Do you trust me, Des? Truly think about it. Do you believe I’m capable of knowing my own mind and trust me to make sound decisions?”

“This feels like a trick question,” he grumbles.

“That’s because it is. If you don’t believe that, in twenty-nine years, I’ve learned to trust my own instincts about someone, then I don’t know how to move forward in our relationship. I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m not ruled by my hormones, and I’m not making choices because they sound good at the time.”

“I know you’re not sixteen anymore. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect you from someone hurting you.”

---