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My eyebrows shoot to my hairline, daring to believe her. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. My alarm went off, and you weren’t in the room. I saw a text from Trent. You were gone, along with your cell. I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer. I assumed you saw the message and went to confront him.”
Hope swells in my heart as my anger recedes. I remind myself not to get ahead of myself. I need more affirmation from Simone. “You were scrambling to what? Stop me?”
She rolls her gray eyes in true Simone’s exasperated fashion. “Duh. Why else?”
“Are you sure you weren’t rushing to warn him I was coming for him?” I ask in a tight voice, chewing on my lip ring with uncertainty. I hate showing vulnerability. Simone has a way of stripping me down, displaying my insecurities to her—I’m powerless against this woman.
As odd as it may be, I’m not sure I want to hide my worries from her. If we’re going to have a future together, she needs to see me in my raw form.
“Trent isn’t my concern. I was coming to stop you from making another foolish mistake, jeopardizing this job and our relationship.”
Guilt settles in my gut. It would be easy to lie and say the thought never crossed my mind. What kind of man would I be if I hid the truth from Simone? I’d be no better than Trent.
“What if I told you my initial reaction was to confront him? That I had every intention of going to the restaurant to make the prick stop contacting you?”
Simone takes a long, hard look at me. She slowly approaches. “But you didn’t. You stayed.”
“For you—I stayed for you. I won’t risk losing you,” I vow, my chest rising and falling rapidly with how close she is. “I went to the gym to work out my aggression instead.”
Warm, soft hands settle on my shoulders. “I was wrong to jump to conclusions. I’m sorry.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Can’t say I blame you. I have a bit of a reputation for acting irrationally with you, Numbers.”
“Still, it doesn’t make it right,” she admits, a frown creasing her delicate brow.
Hating how she’s being hard on herself, I take her hands and hold them to my chest. I gave her a reason to doubt me. Now I have to give her a reason to trust me.
“Stop beating yourself up. You had good reason to suspect I was going after your ex. Hell, I wanted to go after him. I was heading out the door until I looked at you sleeping. I knew I couldn’t do anything else to hurt you—I refuse to be another guy who doesn’t put you first. Fuck my anger and ego. You’re the only thing that matters to me.”
Simone’s eyes mist, her bottom lip trembling slightly. My woman is strong, rarely showing her softer, vulnerable side. If she’s giving me her tears, it means I’ve said something right. I’m finally doing right by her.
“We’re bound to make mistakes while we navigate this relationship. The important part is, we’re both learning to be better for each other,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss her forehead. My blood buzzes as I take in her floral musk, potent and distinctly my woman’s.
She gives me a tender look, tears slipping down her pale cheeks. “You’re right. We’re together in this, and we need to trust the other has the best intentions when it regards us. But I’m still sorry.”
“Give me your lips, baby,” I coo, lifting her chin to kiss her properly.
Her mouth molds around mine in a deep, unhurried kiss. Her body goes slack against me as all my tension disintegrates. My anger ebbs. This is what I needed, to feel her love me as much as I love her.
Simone pulls away first. A vixen smirk pulls at the corners of her puffy lips I thoroughly abused. “Let’s go out to breakfast. I know a place you’ll love.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
SIMONE
“This is good,” Chase mumbles around a forkful of extra crispy hash browns. Crumbs stick to the corners of his lips in his scruffy facial hair.
Snickering, I lean over the table with my napkin, wiping at his mouth, careful of his lip ring. “I knew you’d like it. The breakfast menu at Butter My Biscuits is excellent.”
The industrial chic restaurant is filling for the early morning rush. Diners chat excitedly on all sides of us. The smell of loaded omelets and buttered pancakes wafts through the tightly packed space.
Trent was never a fan of this place, preferring more refined restaurants. But the food couldn’t be beat here. No amount of classy ambience could win me over the taste of greasy morning deliciousness. Trent suggesting it via text was a trick to weave his way into my good graces.
Unlike me or Trent, who stuck out like sore thumbs with our tailored suits, Chase blends into the atmosphere here. His long hair, piercings, and tattoos fall in line with most of the hipster patrons. Seated across from Chase at our little table, I feel like I belong. It doesn’t matter if we’re opposites—we go together.
A content sigh slips by my lips. It’s nice to eat here without Trent dropping condescending remarks about the restaurant. Chase’s company suits me way better than my ex’s ever did.
