So she was zinged up from caffeine and boyfriend annoyance, and it had taken five minutes to scrub the orange from her fingertips.
Sitting on her couch in her pajamas, she listened to the sound of the engine cutting and wondered what to do. It’d been nearly four hours since she’d left the Pumphouse. Four hours. He’d taken his sweet time. She could be sleeping! She could be sleeping with another man in her bed for all he knew.
She frowned.
She should just not answer her door. Yes. It would serve him right if she told him to f**k off and turned the porch light off.
She rolled her eyes at herself. She’d open the door, even if just to see his face, to know he was all right. But that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy.
Still, she made herself wait until she heard the knock before she got up, keeping her pace to the door under a rush.
She opened it and he stood there, looking so beautiful she had to fist her hands to keep from touching him. She remained in the doorway, blocking his path.
“Hi. Did I wake you?” He looked her over.
“It’s one in the morning.”
“I know.” He shoved a hand through his hair, sending it into disarray, and she wanted to fix it. But she couldn’t fix this. He had to want to fix it himself.
“What are you doing here?”
“Are you alone? I mean, is there anyone else…”
She looked him up and down. Did he really, truly think that even a month away from him would be enough to f**k someone else?
“No. I guess there isn’t. You’re not that type. I mean, I hope…” He licked his lips as she kept him standing there. “I’m not doing this right.”
“Five minutes ago you weren’t doing it at all.”
One of her brows rose and he wanted so very much to kiss it. Wanted to draw her into his arms and hold her tight, tell her with words and with his body that he would never f**k up again. That he loved her.
“I went for a ride. I was about ninety minutes out when I realized. No, when I accepted the truth. I had to come back and then I needed to get gas and then I drove around wondering if I should wait until the morning and then I wondered if you were alone and I knew you were, of course, but it was killing me, imagining Trey with his lips on yours, his hands on your body when it was my fault it wasn’t my hands instead.”
He halted, looking at her. She blocked his way, but she hadn’t slammed the door in his face. So there was that.
“You’re mad.”
“Yes.”
“You came into the Pumphouse on a date. A date, Beth. And you’re mad?”
“I’m going to help you. This one time. This is not a useful or helpful line of argument for you.”
She was so icy and fierce, it made him hot. Christ, he was in so deep with her.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Can I come in? It’s cold out here.”
“I’m sure you were colder on the bike. Also? No. Maybe later if I like what you have to say. But you’re nowhere near being invited in at this point.”
Damn.
“Can I tell you it makes me hot to see you this way?”
“No.”
He sighed, licking his lips again.
“I’m sorry for being an ass and not seeing what is so plainly right in front of my face. You. Beth. I love you. It doesn’t matter what I tell myself about how much baggage I have. It doesn’t matter that I tell myself that you’re better off with someone else. Because I love you. I love you so much and I messed up so badly and I hurt you.”
“You didn’t believe in me. Or us.”
“I was so caught up in everything else that I couldn’t risk it. Didn’t want to risk it.”
She leaned against the doorjamb, watching. She looked a little less like she planned to knee him in the junk, which was a step forward at least.
“I was ashamed. Scared as hell.”
“Ashamed of your dad?”
He nodded. “It’s better now. I’ve had a few sessions with a therapist too. My mom as well. I understand it better. I guess you knew it all along. But it took me a while to get there.”
She blinked quickly, he knew tears were close and hated that he’d done it.
“You shared yourself with me. Took a risk and opened up such a private part of yourself and I didn’t…I wasn’t appreciative of it. Not to you and I should have been. I should have let you know how much it meant that you came to me that day. I did appreciate it. It did help. A lot. But I should have told you then. I made you feel bad. That I pushed you away because of that story. And it wasn’t true. I’d never do that.”
“At first I felt like that, yes. I told you something I rarely talk about. Not that I hide it, but I don’t go around laying out my f**ked-up childhood for all and sundry.”
“I know. I was messed up that day. I…it felt like if I didn’t push you out the door that I’d never be able to keep up my strength in protecting you from the insanity of my life. And I shouldn’t have. I should have gone with my gut instinct, which was to pull you close and never let go.”
She sucked in a breath and stepped back. “You can come in.” She turned and walked back inside, leaving him on her doorstep.
Grateful.
He walked inside and noted she’d been on her couch watching movies.
“Thanks. For letting me come in, I mean.”
Sitting on her couch in her pajamas, she listened to the sound of the engine cutting and wondered what to do. It’d been nearly four hours since she’d left the Pumphouse. Four hours. He’d taken his sweet time. She could be sleeping! She could be sleeping with another man in her bed for all he knew.
She frowned.
She should just not answer her door. Yes. It would serve him right if she told him to f**k off and turned the porch light off.
She rolled her eyes at herself. She’d open the door, even if just to see his face, to know he was all right. But that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy.
Still, she made herself wait until she heard the knock before she got up, keeping her pace to the door under a rush.
She opened it and he stood there, looking so beautiful she had to fist her hands to keep from touching him. She remained in the doorway, blocking his path.
“Hi. Did I wake you?” He looked her over.
“It’s one in the morning.”
“I know.” He shoved a hand through his hair, sending it into disarray, and she wanted to fix it. But she couldn’t fix this. He had to want to fix it himself.
“What are you doing here?”
“Are you alone? I mean, is there anyone else…”
She looked him up and down. Did he really, truly think that even a month away from him would be enough to f**k someone else?
“No. I guess there isn’t. You’re not that type. I mean, I hope…” He licked his lips as she kept him standing there. “I’m not doing this right.”
“Five minutes ago you weren’t doing it at all.”
One of her brows rose and he wanted so very much to kiss it. Wanted to draw her into his arms and hold her tight, tell her with words and with his body that he would never f**k up again. That he loved her.
“I went for a ride. I was about ninety minutes out when I realized. No, when I accepted the truth. I had to come back and then I needed to get gas and then I drove around wondering if I should wait until the morning and then I wondered if you were alone and I knew you were, of course, but it was killing me, imagining Trey with his lips on yours, his hands on your body when it was my fault it wasn’t my hands instead.”
He halted, looking at her. She blocked his way, but she hadn’t slammed the door in his face. So there was that.
“You’re mad.”
“Yes.”
“You came into the Pumphouse on a date. A date, Beth. And you’re mad?”
“I’m going to help you. This one time. This is not a useful or helpful line of argument for you.”
She was so icy and fierce, it made him hot. Christ, he was in so deep with her.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Can I come in? It’s cold out here.”
“I’m sure you were colder on the bike. Also? No. Maybe later if I like what you have to say. But you’re nowhere near being invited in at this point.”
Damn.
“Can I tell you it makes me hot to see you this way?”
“No.”
He sighed, licking his lips again.
“I’m sorry for being an ass and not seeing what is so plainly right in front of my face. You. Beth. I love you. It doesn’t matter what I tell myself about how much baggage I have. It doesn’t matter that I tell myself that you’re better off with someone else. Because I love you. I love you so much and I messed up so badly and I hurt you.”
“You didn’t believe in me. Or us.”
“I was so caught up in everything else that I couldn’t risk it. Didn’t want to risk it.”
She leaned against the doorjamb, watching. She looked a little less like she planned to knee him in the junk, which was a step forward at least.
“I was ashamed. Scared as hell.”
“Ashamed of your dad?”
He nodded. “It’s better now. I’ve had a few sessions with a therapist too. My mom as well. I understand it better. I guess you knew it all along. But it took me a while to get there.”
She blinked quickly, he knew tears were close and hated that he’d done it.
“You shared yourself with me. Took a risk and opened up such a private part of yourself and I didn’t…I wasn’t appreciative of it. Not to you and I should have been. I should have let you know how much it meant that you came to me that day. I did appreciate it. It did help. A lot. But I should have told you then. I made you feel bad. That I pushed you away because of that story. And it wasn’t true. I’d never do that.”
“At first I felt like that, yes. I told you something I rarely talk about. Not that I hide it, but I don’t go around laying out my f**ked-up childhood for all and sundry.”
“I know. I was messed up that day. I…it felt like if I didn’t push you out the door that I’d never be able to keep up my strength in protecting you from the insanity of my life. And I shouldn’t have. I should have gone with my gut instinct, which was to pull you close and never let go.”
She sucked in a breath and stepped back. “You can come in.” She turned and walked back inside, leaving him on her doorstep.
Grateful.
He walked inside and noted she’d been on her couch watching movies.
“Thanks. For letting me come in, I mean.”
