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The power that he holds, just by sitting in a chair across from me, is incredible.
The pull to him was there when we first met but was overshadowed by his terrible attitude.
I had it in my head for so long that he didn’t like me, and we haven’t truly spoken since his confession in the hospital.
I nod, apprehensive and second guessing myself.
Maybe nervous isn’t the right word as I stare at his sharp jaw and strong features.
“Do you want the truth?” he asks. “Do you want to know how I’m feeling right now?”
Excitement bubbles in my chest. “I do,” I say earnestly.
“I’m feeling like I’m one second away from losing any chance with you,” he admits, and my mouth falls slightly open. “And that I can’t come back from how I treated you at the café. That I’ve done nothing but scare you and hurt you.”
I’m stunned. A shadow crosses his handsome features as he continues, his brow furrowed. “I feel like since we’ve met, I’ve been the bad guy in your story, and what I did just now only reinforced that perception you have of me.”
He clears his throat and drums his fingers against his thighs. “Nervous isn’t the right word. I’ve been fucking tortured.”
Oh.
We are definitely not on the same page, then.
My mind is still sluggish from the emotional whiplash of today, but I gather my strength and choose to be vulnerable with Vincent.
“Are you the same bad guy that took care of my home while I was gone?” I ask him, quirking my lip. “The same bad guy that not only checked in on my friend, but also the one person in the world I consider my parent? I don’t think that’s what bad guys do.”
He shrugs. “It was the bare minimum,” he counters, unable to accept the compliment.
Impossible, stubborn man.
I continue. “And what about visiting me at the hospital? Covering me in blankets and showering me with gifts? Is that the bare minimum, too?” I cross my arms and quirk an eyebrow.
He scoffs, and I grin. “Exactly,” I say. “Our first interaction was…not great,” I say. “I’ll give you that.”
But he scowls and shakes his head. “I was cold to you. I was an asshole,” he mutters.
“Yeah, you were,” I agree. “And maybe sometimes you’ll still be cold and an asshole. Just not to me. Maybe to River, though.”
He huffs. “Yes, but River deserves it.” A slight smile tugs at the corner of his lip, and I smile back.
“But Vincent,” I don’t even realize I’ve scooted to the edge of the couch, closer to the armchair, “we’ve barely had two conversations by ourselves. Which is why I wanted to talk to you alone.”
His scent emboldens me. The dark chocolate and cognac swirl around me, and my cunt flutters.
Another reminder that my Heat is coming soon, and that Vincent’s scent is only making it approach faster.
But I push my needy Omega to the side, knowing that I need to tell him what’s on my mind.
“I think…” I start as I shift on the couch, unable to keep eye contact with him. “…I think we both carry a lot of guilt,” I finish softly, suddenly way more interested in my hands than his face. “I’ve learned little bits and pieces about you from River and Landon, but I also see it in your eyes.”
The room is silent, and I continue to keep my focus on my hands that start to shake.
This could be the wrong thing to say. This could make him shut down, or just turn away entirely.
Another beat passes. Then…
“You’re right.”
