Page 260 of Rush

“Elena.”

I roll my eyes. “So this is a date?”

“No,” he says, smiling that maddening smile. “It’s a not-date. You wear something slutty. I don’t tell you how good you look until halfway through the night. We both pretend we’re not thinking about each other naked the whole time.”

“You’re annoying.”

He backs toward the door. “And yet, you’re already picturing it.”

“Am not.”

Please kiss me.

“You’re wondering what I’ll wear.”

“I’m not.”

Please fuck me.

“You’re already planning that blowjob.”

“Shut up.”

Please.

“Seven o’clock tomorrow.”

He opens the door, stepping out with his hands raised in mock-surrender.

“Not a date,” I say.

“Not a date,” he echoes.

The door clicks shut behind him.

I stand there, blinking, mouth parted, heart racing.

Broderick fucking Schwartz.

The only man alive who could have me half-naked, begging—and still walk away like he’s doingmea favor. And it’s not even about the sex. Not really. It’s the refusal. The choice to wait.

To be good. To be more.

I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t feel like someone worth waiting for.

I collapse onto the couch. The sweatshirt clings to my skin; the air smells faintly of him.

He wants a clean start.

But the moment I let myself think about moving on—really moving on—Alex finds a way back in.

Pulling the tide out from under me. Leaving me breathless, soaked in salt.

Since he told me he and Madison weren’t together—that all those posts and flowers were just desperate attempts to get my attention—it reignited a flicker of hope for us. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to fully let go.

But he’s never actually tried to win me back. Never shown me, in any real way, that he still wants me. That he wants us.

Then acts hurt when he sees me with someone else.