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“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say.
He moves to stand behind me, and I don’t fight it. I take the jacket because I am in fact cold, and his jacket is covered in his aftershave, the manly scent doing something to me that I can’t explain.
He doesn’t move away, instead he whispers into my ear. “I want to worry about you. I enjoy taking care of you.” I quiver from his gravelly voice, but the warm breath on my ear sends me into overdrive.
I try to speak, but my words are stuck in my chest. When he moves, I shiver from the cool air hitting my back.
Sucking in a deep breath through my mouth, I inhale him and shake my head to refocus.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice uneven, giving away how unstable I feel, but he doesn’t comment.
“What are you doing here?”
He stands toe to toe, not giving me too much space. I should take a step back so he can’t invade my senses, but I love that he wants to be close to me. Because deep down, I want that too.
“I asked you first,” I demand.
“I was grabbing takeout dinner.”
I glance at the door, at a couple leaving, and then I focus on his deep brown eyes boring into mine.
He turns away to peer at the road. “Why?” he asks, bringing his gaze back to mine, and there is so much hurt swirling in them.
“Ava said that it was a good way to see…” I trail off.
“To see what?” he pushes, his tone growing frustrated.
I look away, needing him out of my head as I speak. “If you were the one or not. Because if I didn’t feel anything for him, then it would at least answer one of the questions I have.”
“What are the other questions?”
I bring my eyes back to him and frown. “I told you. If I want to be with you because you’re a packaged deal and also, what if I want my own child in the future.”
“I never said I wouldn’t have a child with you.”
“What?” I pull his jacket tighter around me.
“If it meant I’d lose you. I love my daughter, so kids are not an issue. It’s just, I’m old.”
“You’re not old.”
“Thirty-eight? Is still older, but children are not an issue. My daughter and the baggage, I get, but did you have to go on a date to figure that out?”
“No, that wasn’t why I was on the date. It was to be sure these feelings were real and weren’t just a memory from Christmas.”
His hand goes to reach out to touch my face, but he pulls it back. I mourn the loss immediately. God, I wish he would have touched my cheek. I’d love to have his hands on me. He shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest, as if to keep his hands to himself.
“It was real to me.”
Fuck.The hurt look in his eyes is worse than before.
“It was real for me too,” I say quietly. He’s so close, I just want to yank his face to mine and kiss him passionately, and fuck it all, but I have to remind myself that I need to be 100 percent.
Why does being in a real relationship suck so much? Why can’t shit be easy?
I have Marc right here, within arm’s distance, and my date is waiting inside. I can’t be rude. I need to go back in and end the date politely.
It’s silent between us. I can only hear the blood rushing to my ears and my heavy breaths. I drop my chin and suck in a breath, then roll my shoulders back with new determination.
