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Right to the point, then.
“I want to know where we stand,” I say. “We left things open-ended the last time we talked and I want to know where we’re headed from here.”
Blake studies my face. “Where would you like us to go?”
“You can’t put this on me,” I say, shaking my head.
“You know who I am and what I have to offer. I can’t give you anything more. You’re the one who has to decide if being with me is enough.”
“But you want to be with me?”
He doesn’t answer me. That rubs me the wrong way.
“You can’t even tell me if you want to be with me?” I ask. “Surely, you have some kind of feeling?”
Blake glances to the side. “You know how I feel. You know what I have to offer.”
“Stop saying that!” I cry out. “God, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall right now! Are you going to keep throwing the same words out at me?”
Blake clenches his jaw. He’s upset, too. But he’s keeping it all in and I don’t know what the hell is going on. I want a reaction out of him. I want something—anything—that will show me he has thoughts and feelings about where we might or might not be heading. But Blake is stone-faced and sullen.
“I don’t know what else to say to you,” Blake finally says.
I shake my head. “I can’t believe this. What the hell happened to you? You were so open on our weekend away. You were so different. Now, you’re… how I imagined the great Blake Ford to be.”
“How’s that?” he asks. His anger bubbles just beneath the surface.
“Nothing but business. That’s the reputation you have, you know.”
“It’s not a bad reputation to have, all things considered,” Blake says in a strained voice. “Trust me, I’ve seen much worse.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve seen a hell of a lot better. You can keep everyone at arm’s length, but you can’t do that to me. Not if you really want something to work between us.”
Blake looks like he wants to say something, and I wait for it. Even if it’s a storm.Anythingwill be better than this cold, painfully bland exterior that won’t give me anything to work with. Not anger or fear or pain or even disdain for me.
Blake’s phone rings and he answers. I gasp—we’re talking.
“You can send her up,” he says.
“What!?” I cry out.
“Emma is here for my workout session.”
I bristle. “Yeah, sure. I mean, why not work on your abs rather than figuring out what the hell is going on here.”
Blake doesn’t answer me. Again. He’s just so damn silent all the time. And it hurts. I want him to respond, and the more I push, the more he shuts down on me.
A moment later, the door opens and Emma walks in, bright-eyed and ready to train. She wears leggings and a training bra and not much else—her stomach is bare and she looks fucking great. Too great.
“Oh, are you busy?” her bouncy step falters when she sees Blake and me.
“No,” I say and glare at him. “It looks like we’re just about done here. He’s not very talkative today. He’s having a bad day.”
“Is it because of your mom?” Emma asks, her face softening.
I frown. “What?”
Blake clenches his jaw. When I look at him again, his eyes are on me, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling. But it’s something, this time. Until now, he was void of emotion, for the most part. Now, it looks like he’s going to burst with it, but I still can’t tell what’s going on.
