Damn, he looks just as good in those.
I stiffened as he approached me. “Wes, I—”
He handed me a pair of shorts. “Take these. I don’t want you walking down to your place like this.”
Without a word, I slipped the basketball shorts on. “Thanks,” I grumbled.
Strangely enough, I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even muster up a fake smile. Because if I talked to him, then I wouldn’t want to talk. I’d want to stay. I’d want to spend more time wrapped around him.
“Bug,” he said, his voice low and dangerously seductive.
Damn it. It should’ve repulsed me, to hear him call me that name. Instead, it made me feel everything good about us and none of the bad.
All those years of resentment. All the anger, the hurt … I still wanted him. Tears filled my eyes, and I plopped down on the bed. “When you left, I was sick,” I confessed. “I literally couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t function. It wrecked me, Wes.”
He kneeled in front of me, squeezed my thighs. “I’m so sorry, Bug.”
The first tear fell, giving the others permission. I didn’t bother wiping my face, though. “I don’t want to be in that position again.” I wet my lips, tasting my salty tears. Evidence that I was still fallible, that I’d willingly walked into this hell because I wanted to know what it felt like to be with him again. I’d betrayed my vow to myself, and now I was paying for it.
“What can I do?” he asked, searching my eyes.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
He brushed a thumb under my eye, cupped my face in his palm. “I want to say so much to you, but …” He kissed me tenderly, almost reverently. “Excuses don’t change what happened.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “I enjoyed tonight. But this can’t happen again. I’m just starting to feel like myself after my divorce. Being with you will only hamper my progress. I’ve fought too hard, too long, to move forward. I don’t want to look back.”
He nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
The way he’d acquiesced so quickly irritated me. Because he’d just literally transported me right back to the carriage house. Naked. Wanting him. Ready to give him every part of me. Only for him to walk away without a fight. The difference was, I would’ve fought for him back then. But not today. Never again.
My shoulders fell on a sigh. “Yeah.” I stood, staring down at him. “It’s what I want.”
When Wes peered up at me, I was struck by the fire in his eyes. He frowned. “Is that it? You’re going to walk away.”
Something had shifted in the atmosphere. We were at the point in the conversation where we would either start fighting or start fucking.
“You don’t want to go,” he added, tilting his head to the ceiling as if he was angry.Hewas angry?
Brushing past him, I muttered, “I need to get the hell out of here. Bye, Wes.”
“I get it,” he called.
I froze. “Get what?”
“You don’t want to get hurt. But don’t run from this.”
Whirling to face him, I yelled, “Stop. I”—I smacked my chest hard for emphasis—“am the not one who ran away.”
He approached me, unfazed by my rage. “You’re afraid.”
“You’re damn right I’m scared. And I don’t like feeling that way.”
“Then don’t. Bug, we can work—”
I shook my head. “No. This can’t work.”
“It will work. It worked tonight.”
