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“How are you?”
God, I die for his voice.
I want to hear it every day for the rest of my life.
“I’m good.” I look up at him, finding his eyes on me intently. “How are you?”
His eyes bore into me harder after I ask him that. He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he asks, “How are you really, Kristen?”
Only he would ask me this. Well, besides Jenna who likes to dig around in my feelings whenever she can. But he’s the only guy I’ve ever known who wouldn’t be satisfied with my first answer. “I’m okay. Truly.”
“There’s a difference between okay and good. Don’t tell me you’re good if you’re not.” And there’s his signature grumpiness.
“I know there’s a difference.”
He arches his brows, waiting for me to give him more, but the elevator reaches the rooftop, saving me from his scrutiny.
I step out onto the rooftop and pull my coat in close while I walk through the mostly empty lounge and head for the railing. The winter chill is like a slap in the face, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay to have this time alone with Bradford.
His hand comes to the small of my back as he moves next to me at the railing. His eyes hold concern. “We should go back in. It’s colder than I thought it would be up here.”
I quickly place my hand on his forearm and shake my head. “No. I don’t want to.”
His hand that’s on my back slides slowly around the side of my waist, lingering there before he drops it. I have to fight not to beg for it back. “I’ve missed you,” he says, using the voice I’ve only ever heard him use with me.
In the time I’ve known him, we’ve not only spent time alone; we’ve also joined conversations together that included other people. I’ve heard Bradford speak to businessmen, his brothers, friends, and his girlfriends. Not once have I heard him use this voice with anyone, not even the women he’s dated.
His tone is laced with affection. It’s deep, and warm, and filled with consideration and attention. I have never thought of anyone’s voice in those ways, but Bradford’s makes mefeelthose things. It makes me feel like he’s been thinking about me, wondering about me, worrying about me. And underneath all those layers is raw desire that colors every conversation we have.
I move closer to him, putting almost no space between us. I’m unable not to take that step. Ever since I decided to act upon my feelings and break up with Charlie so I could pursue Bradford, the pull to him has become impossible to continue ignoring. It’s only my respect for the sanctity of relationships that keeps me from acting on it. In moments like this one with him, guilt flares over the friendship we keep. I have to chase away thoughts that whatever this is between us, it doesn’t feel like any friendship I’ve ever had. It’s those thoughts and that guilt, I think, that make me limit my time with him. Bradford and I could never be friends who see each other all the time.
“I’ve missed you too,” I say softly as I note the subtle changes in his face. I think his jaw is more defined if that’s possible. And he looks tired. God, how I wish that knowing these things about him were part of my daily life. That I was the one who got to sayCome to bed, you’re tired.
“So, are you going to be honest with me and tell me how you’ve really been? I can see it in your eyes that something’s off.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Bradford. I’m busy working. I’m out having fun with my friends. My dad has been supporting me in my work. All is good in my world. Now, tell me how you are. What you’ve been up to. It’s been so long since we’ve spoken.”
He stares at me for a moment longer before raking his fingers through that beautiful hair of his and growling, “Fuck. Why do you feel so far away?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Most of the time, I like Bradford being able to read me. I like him forcing me to tell him the truth. Now, not so much. The reason I feel far away is because I’m trying hard to distance my feelings for him. And I’m trying really hard to keep him away from the parts of my life I don’t want to discuss with him. The parts I don’t even discuss with myself.
Needing a reprieve from his determination to delve into me, I glance out at the sky.
Bradford only gives me a few seconds before bringing his hand to my chin and angling my face back to his. “You didn’t get a job.”
Straight to the point.
Damn him.
“I’m working.” Even to my ears those words sound pathetic. I’m defending something we both know isn’t worth defending.
“You’re doing charity work with your mother that earns your father’s approval, Kristen. That’s not what you told me you wanted to do.” He’s gentle with the way he says this, but I know from the way he’s looking at me with his trademark decisiveness that he’s one step away from challenging me on my bullshit. Because he’s right; the work I’m doing is not the work I wanted to do.
Without realizing I’m doing it, I place my hand to his abs. “Please don’t push me on this. Not tonight.”
