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“Well, I imagine you’d say something like, ‘Piper, I’ve been in love with you this whole time, but I’ve been too busy maintaining my mysteriously brooding, bad boy image to admit it.’ Then I expect you’d fall to your knees at my feet and agree to date me.”
I could only snort and shake my head. “Of course, I would.”
The sad truth was that there was a very real possibility that I would. I could actually picture myself saying that…or the gist at least.
“Well, what do you think you’d say, then?” she asked.
I needed to say more? What the fuck else would I say to her?
It felt like this was one of those sincere moments. I couldn’t bullshit her. I wouldn’t bullshit her. Maybe a hypothetical conversation was my chance to be honest without risking us getting to a point where it all fucked up.
I rearranged a few times, drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, threw her a couple of glances, leant my elbow on the door, and rubbed my chin while I tried to put it into words. Words that I was actually going to say to her out loud.
God fucking help me.
“I think I’d be more likely to say something like, ‘Piper, I’ve never wanted to be that guy before. But, even if you weren’t that girl, I’ve found myself wanting to be that guy for you. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you know how to make me smile, you make me happy without even trying, and your touch drives me wild. I fell in love with you, Piper, before I even really knew what love was, before I really knew you. Now, I know both far more intimately than I ever thought I could, and I would be honoured to date you.’”
And she said nothing.
She said nothing.
She had no words for mine.
I’d gone and fucked it up after all.
“Barlow?”
“Jesus, that was…something else, Lombardi,” she breathed.
And she thought what she’d said wasn’t? Clearly her words had been purely hypothetical, and I needed to do some damage control.
“Just because I’m not romantic doesn’t mean I’ve failed to grasp the concept. Besides, you forced enough of those movies on me last week. I like to think I’ve picked up something.”
“Sure. Of course, you would have.”
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine.”
She didn’t sound fine, and I wanted to kick myself. Rather, I wanted to kick someone else. Or have them kick me. Any of that would be preferable to the knowledge I’d fucked this up. Again.
I was forgetting the rules and that made me susceptible to feeling shit.
I pulled into my driveway. “You sure?”
She had her bag. Her hand was on the door handle. But she paused. “You caught me off-guard, Lombardi, that’s all. No girl – no matter how smart – is going to be unaffected by you saying something like that.”
Fuckity fuck fucking shitsticks.
She was quick out her door. I was quicker out mine and standing in front of her when her feet were on the ground, and she turned around.
I needed to fix this.
I didn’t know how to fix this.
I didn’t fix things.
I broke them.
