“You care?” he scoffs bitterly. “Is that what you were going to say? Don’t. I already feel pathetic enough, okay?”
“Why did you drink so much?” I ask, needing to know.
When he doesn’t answer, I turn him toward me so he’s lying on his back, staring up at my ceiling defiantly. I lean over him, blocking his view. “Mackie,” I order.
“Because I felt guilty, okay?” he yells, his chest heaving as he glares up at me. “I felt so fucking guilty, and then so stupid for feeling that way.”
“Guilty?”
“I touched Conan. I sucked him off, and I enjoyed it, and then after, I felt so fucking guilty. How stupid is that?” His expression is bitter as he watches my reaction. “I enjoyed it, and he enjoyed it, yet after I could only think about you—if you would care, if it would hurt, and even if I wasn’t, I felt like I was betraying you because I’m a fucking moron, so I went to drink to forget.” He goes quiet.
Something in me shatters at his upset, drunken confession, and a dark, ugly feeling rises within me. I have no right to be jealous or hurt. He isn’t mine, I made sure of that, but knowing he touched someone else like that . . .
It wrecks me. I thought the thing in my head would kill me, but I was wrong.
It’s this right here, finding out he’s moved on.
“Say something,” he finally mutters.
“You are single. You can do whatever you want,” I grit out, but my voice sounds weird. He sits up, and I recoil at how close it puts us.
“I can? So why don’t I feel like that?” His lip trembles again, and he wipes his eyes as more tears fall. “I want to move on, but when I do,I feel so guilty, it hurts.” He covers his face, and his shoulders start to shake. “Why do I want to apologize? Why?”
I feel sick to my core. The idea of him touching someone else breaks every part of me, but I push it away, knowing he needs me right now. God, I did this. I broke this sweet, beautiful man.
“You did nothing wrong,” I promise, assuring him as much as myself.
He peeks at me through his fingers. “Then why do I feel like I did? I’m so messed up. I love you, yet I like Conan, and I’m hurting everyone, and I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore—” He freezes as I lean in and kiss him. It’s a soft, chaste kiss, but I need it as much as he does.
“Fine, then let’s make it even.” I don’t even know what I’m saying, but I’m moving. He falls back on my bed, wide-eyed and shocked as I crawl over him.
Maybe it’s jealousy, pain, or anger, or maybe it’s the fact that we are both hurting and trying to keep him safe isn’t working anymore.
I can’t live without him, and he clearly can’t live without me.
Gripping his hair, I yank his head back, and he gasps, his eyes widening as he looks at me. It’s cruel and mean, just like me, but I don’t stop, especially as desire burns in his gaze. I lick his cheeks, tasting his salty tears.
This is the last time I’ll do it.
“Noah,” he whispers shakily as I press my lips to each of his swollen eyelids until they flutter shut before I kiss his salty lips.
“I lied. I remember our kiss. I think about it every single fucking day. It’s all I think about. I can barely look at that corner of the garage without thinking about it. It was the best kiss of my life, and I had to pretend not to remember to protect both our hearts, but I’m tired of hurting just to keep you away.”
“You remember?” His eyes open and narrow. “You asshole. You lied to me. You made me feel like a total jerk!” He slaps my chest, and I let him. I don’t move as he hits me, more tears filling his eyes. “I’ve been so lost, and you remembered this entire time.”
“I wanted it as much as you did. I didn’t have a single drink that night,” I admit truthfully, and he freezes. “Not like you, though, I usedit as an excuse to kiss you, but you’re here, in my bed, and I meant it. We’ll get even so your guilt goes away and this sick feeling inside me is gone.”
He looks at me, confused and hurt, and I don’t blame him, but I can’t stop. Everything I tried so hard to fight and all the reasons why rise up, but none of it matters, not with his taste on my lips.
I fought not to admit that I love Mackie, but I’m tired and scared, and I’m done.
I’m done pushing him away, done hurting us both.
Leaning in, I breathe in his scent wrapped in alcohol. “I want to kiss you when you’re sober and we have no excuses to pretend we don’t remember, but I can’t hold back . . . not tonight.”
“Then don’t,” he whispers, and it’s all the permission I need as I kiss him.
At the first touch of his lips, I remember why it was such a hard decision to walk away. His little moan drives me crazy as I suck on his tongue and brush mine against his. Lying him back, I deepen our kiss, and his touch turns soft on my chest, pulling me closer as he forgets how anyone else tastes.
