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“Am I imagining this?” He glances at me, pausing for a second before resuming his path across my room.
“This being…?”
“You and me. What’s happening between us.”
Oh.
“I text you more than I text Yvonne,” he mutters when I don’t respond. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know that I can answer that.”
“You’re five years younger than me. That’s too young, isn’t it?”
This is more emotion than I’ve seen from him ever. Though he’s still guarded, this display seems like a culmination of long-lingering frustration.
“Too young for what?”
“You know what.”
“Yeah, okay.” I feel myself blushing. We’re past the point of playing dumb, I guess. “I’m not sure what to say. I’m sort of in a tough spot here. I mean…Yvonne.”
“Right. Exactly.” Nate turns away. Paces a few more steps. “Theoretically, though. If we’re being hypothetical.”
I get to my feet. His nervous energy has become contagious as I start to wander the room.
“Do I like you? Is that what you came here to find out?”
He answers with a heated stare.
“Sure, I guess I have a crush.”
In my defense, I think it’s the half-dozen glasses of champagne that glossed my lips enough to let the admission slip out.
I pause at the foot of my bed. “Or did. But we talked about this.”
Nate approaches me. “Right.”
“Because you have a girlfriend.”
He moves closer. “Right.”
“We agreed.”
Until he’s standing right in front of me. “We did.”
Reaching for me, Nate places his warm palm against my cheek. His face hovers above mine as my breath catches. He’s so good-looking it makes my heart pound.
I want to reach for him. To grab him as if to say,Hurry up already. If you want me, take me. Put me out of my misery.
But I don’t.
“We can’t do this, Nate.”
I break away, crossing the room to put some necessary distance between us. I can’t trust myself in his proximity, because I do want this. Him. I have since the moment I saw him under the cheap stage lights of that pub. But crushing on a taken guy is one thing. It’s harmless.
Acting on that crush is not.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to be that girl.”
