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“Icame to talk to you.”
“Okay.”Silently,Iregard him, taking in his tousled hair, the shadows under his eyes, the overgrown scruff on his cheeks and chin.Myheart won’t stop pounding, andIcan feel my pulse throbbing in my neck.
“CanIcome in?” he prompts me.
Iblink, then jolt forward, moving past him and unlocking the door.
“Shae,” he starts, butIcut him off.
“Justwait until we get inside.”
Henods and follows me up the stairs.Itry to suppress my awareness of him, his scent, the bulk of his body behind me, but it’s impossible.
Hefollows me closely into my apartment.Iwant to change becauseIhate that he’s seeing me like this—tired, dirty, bedraggled.
NothinglikeIsabelle.
Iconsider asking him to wait for me to take a shower, but the thought of being naked in the bathroom while he’s out here is too much.
Iturn to face him. “Whyare you here?”Iask again.
Heshoves his hands in his back pockets. “Iwanted to see you.Totalk to you and explain.”
Mychest squeezes tight, andIturn away. “There’snothing to explain.Youmade yourself very clear when you walked away and didn’t answer any of my calls or texts.”
“Ididn’tmake myself clear.That’sthe problem.”
Myfloorboards creak, and he takes my arm and turns me toward him.Ilook up at him, and my pulse leaps at his proximity.AlthoughIfight the reaction, my body longs to be close to him.
Hewatches me for a long moment, his eyes dark and serious. “Ishould have been honest with you from the start.Ishould have told you about the agreementBeauandImade in high school.”
“Thenwhy didn’t you?”
Hedrops my arm but doesn’t step back. “BecauseIwas terrified.”
Mybrows pull together. “Ofwhat?”
“Thatwhen you knew why we made it, it would change everything.”
“Why?Whywould it change anything?”
“Iknew how you felt about him when we were kids.Ithought once you knew the feelings were mutual, and thatIgot between the two of you, you’d never forgive me.”
Confusionswamps me. “Youhave no idea howIfelt in high school.”
“Isaw your notebook.”
Igive a little shake of my head. “Whatnotebook?”
“Youleft it on your desk one day, andIlooked through it.Inhindsight,Ishouldn’t have.ButIloved seeing all the little pictures you would draw in your books.Isaw what you’d written.Beau’sname with hearts around it.Yourinitials together.Itwas obvious you wanted more with him.”
Istare at him, mouth agape, then let out a horrible, choked laugh.
Hefrowns. “What?”
Iput my hands up to my face and press my fingers against my eyes for a second. “EveryonethoughtBeauandIwould get together at some stage.Thegirls at school used to talk about it all the time.Ieven overheard his mom joking about it once.Shecalled me her future daughter-in-law, andIliked the sound of that.Istarted wondering if there was something wrong with me for not feeling that way aboutBeau.Afterall,Iloved him, andIknew a lot of girls were jealous of me.SoItried.Itried to look at him the wayIwould if he weren’t my friend.AndIdid what the other girls did when they liked a guy, writing our initials together, drawing hearts around his name, all that sort of stuff.Tosee if it would trigger something.Butit didn’t.Itjust felt weird.Liketrying to develop a crush on a brother.”
Ishake my head, hardly able to believe thatDevonhad spent all these years thinkingIfelt forBeauwhatI’dalways felt for him. “TheminuteImet you, all of that went out the window.God,Devon.Ihad the worst crush on you all through high school.”
