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“So you’re saying that what happened on Ginny’s birthday was my fault?”
“No. I take full responsibility for that. People do lots of stupid things when they’re drinking, and we’d been drinking a lot. I’m just saying that it makes me crazy that you’re so naive, and it makes me crazier that I was the one to take advantage of it.”
“I’m not that naive, James. You know I’ve lived on my own for almost a year.”
“And for what percentage of that time did you have a boyfriend?” he demands.
I hate that he’s going to win this argument on a technicality. “Most of it,” I sigh. “But that doesn’t make me naive.”
“You’ve spent your entire life at an all-girl’s Catholic school. You worked with your dad every summer. And then, for the entire school year, you’re with a guy who’s making sure no one gets within 10 feet of you. So what leads you to think you’re not naive?”
“I’m a lot less sheltered than you think,” I counter, remembering all the times I had to drag my semi-conscious mother away from Flavio’s disgusting friends. “And you’re making it sound like I’m a moron. Like I’m outside hitchhiking in a halter top or walking around the house naked, and I’m not. I don’t walk off at night with guys I don’t know. I don’t accept drinks from strangers. Hell, Martin from next door has invited me over to watch “Game of Thrones” at least 10 times because you guys are too cheap to go in on HBO and I haven’t even done that.”
“Remind me to have a word with Martin,” he growls.
“But you see my point,” I argue.
“Ginny told me you considered going to the Hamptons when Ferris invited you.”
I throw my hands up. “He implied that he wanted to set me up with his son! And he’s my dad’s age! I think it was a reasonable misunderstanding.”
“Maybe it was, but she also told me the shit he said to you, and you should have known.”
“Thanks, James,” I rasp. “Because I don’t feel like a big enough asshole as it is.” I start to turn but he grabs my arm. I hate that, even at a moment like this, I’m still so absurdly conscious of him, of his bare chest and his vivid eyes and the place where his skin touches mine.
“I’m sorry,” he pleads. “You’re right, and this is coming out all wrong. I’m just trying to say that I feel protective of you, and you might not think you need it, but I do. I still remember the little girl who came to me crying at camp because she was homesick.”
“Everyone was little once. It doesn’t mean they still are.”
“I know,” he concedes. “And I’ll try to be better about it. Just please keep in mind that you’re pretty – no, not just pretty, you’re absurdly beautiful — and you haven’t been on your own that long, so you need to be careful.”
“If I’m so pretty,” I blurt out, “then why was kissing me such a mistake?”
He hesitates and then sighs deeply. “I just … don’t see you that way, Elle.”
I feel like I’ve been hit. Not that I hadn’t surmised as much by the way he practically ran screaming from the restaurant when it happened, but still — it hurts. “So you’re not attracted to me?” I ask.
“There isn’t a straight male alive who isn’t attracted to you,” he says hoarsely.
“So what’s the problem?” I persist. I hate myself for pushing this, but on the other hand it seems there’s nothing left to be lost.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can find someone attractive and still not like them in the right way,” he finally says.
“Ouch,” I say quietly.
“Elle. You can’t take it personally. You can have anyone alive.”
“Not anyone,” I say, meeting his eye. I turn to go back to the house, knowing that he will let me go.
And knowing that he will watch me the whole time I’m walking away. That’s the part I don’t understand.
Chapter 22
Things change, superficially, after our talk. He’s polite and he no longer runs off when I walk in the room, but the strain is still there. And watching him struggle to be pleasant is almost worse. I still long to seek him out when my shift has ended and he’s sitting on the deck, but it’s muted by dread of what I know I’ll find: the way his smile will flicker out upon seeing me, the way he’ll grow solemn and watchful, removed as if I’m some danger he must guard against.
And it’s not only things with James that have gone bad.
It begins with Edward, who re-emerges on the cover of the tabloids because his wife is leaving him. There’s another picture of me, slightly less grainy than its predecessor. Corinne texts to say that reporters are asking the staff about me.
