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And yet, I can’t ignore the sting of disappointment.
“You thought I’d expect more.”
“I thought . . .” He clears his throat, shaking his head, his eyes becoming more hooded, searching mine. “I thought it was a pleasant evening.”
“Pleasant?”
“Nice.”
I laugh. “That’s even worse than pleasant, Brad.” God, he looks annoyingly comfortable while he tells me that I was okay in bed. I don’t suppose I can grumble. He’s had more experience than I have. Way more experience. “Let’s just forget it ever happened and go back to?—”
“Hating each other?” he says.
I roll my eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, let’s do that. It’s what people are used to from us.”
“I don’t think I can do that, Pearl.”
I shoot him a look, something inside shifting, and I don’t know what. What is he saying? His lips become straight, and he pulls a hand out of his pocket, a packet of cigarettes and lighter held in his grasp. He lights up. I need one of those too.
“Not after last night,” he adds quietly.
I remain silent, scared to talk, and watch as he puts his free hand on his knee, palm up, flexing his fingers. I read him, tentatively placing my hand in his, and he wraps his fingers around mine, looking at our joined hands.
“So can we at least be civil?”
And that feeling I couldn’t recognize? I realize, as unwarranted disappointment engulfs me, that it was hope. “Yeah,” I say softly, breaking our joined hands—I can’t bear the heat. “I’ll see you later.” I stand and walk away.
“Pearl?” he calls, and I look back. I hate the expression on his face. I hate how handsome he is. I hate that I’m twenty-one. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” I ask, confused, as he rises to his feet. “Like, broke my heart?”
“No, Pearl. The blood on the bed.”
I feel my face drop, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, despite my best efforts. Shit. My cheeks become hot, my tongue thick in my mouth. “You didn’t hurt me.” I should not have said that. “It’s fine.” I bumble on. “I—” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I’ll see you later.” I get my arse out of there before I give myself away. Fucking hell, just tell him you came on your period!
“Whoa, wait,” Brad calls. I clench my eyes closed, keeping up my pace. “Pearl,” he yells, his tone changing, along with his mood. “Pearl, stop where the fuck you are.”
On a quiet curse, I stop, and Brad rounds me, his eyes no longer hooded. They’re worried. “Please tell me . . .” A swallow. “Jesus, don’t say . . .”
I feel my shoulders drop, defeated. “It’s no big deal.”
“You’re a virgin?” he breathes.
Embarrassment claims me. “Was, Brad. I was a virgin.” A pure, perfect, untouched, unbroken, expensive virgin.
“Fucking hell.” He sucks on his cigarette and puffs out the smoke on a few more fucks for good measure. I didn’t want him to know. The aftermath is bad enough without that thrown into the mix. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
I look at him like he’s stupid, because in this moment he is. “I’m sorry, should I have put that on my résumé?”
He winces like he’s been slapped.
“Are all your fucks obliged to state their sexual experience before you stick your cock in them?”
Snarling, he gets up in my face. “You have a mouth like a fucking sewer.”
Is he really taking the moral high ground? “Are you telling me off?” This is better. Anger. No disappointment, only anger. He’s acting like he’s some kind of fucking angel and I’ve just robbed his halo.
Taking my face in his grip, Brad squeezes my cheeks. Livid. And then . . . not. His eyes fall to my lips. Oh shit. My body responds, buzzing, begging for the electric energy consuming me again. He moves in, his lips skimming mine. I taste his cigarette. Sex. My anger dissipates and every tiny thing I felt last night while he worshipped me returns.
