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“You saw the picture,” he says after a beat.
“Yeah…” I don’t know what more to say. Yeah I saw the picture, and I’ve decided that I’m no longer good enough for you. There’s nothing I can say now that won’t make me look crazy.
“It was just a fan who wanted an autograph— I think.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know. Whoever that fan was, they’re so insignificant that I swear I don’t even remember them.”
I nod my head without responding, taking in his words. This is too good to be true.
But he looks honest. There’s no deception on his face. No nerves. He doesn’t pull away or try to hide.
I swallow.
“Astrid, I swear.” He puts his hand over his heart as he walks over to where I’m seated. “Social media loves to take pictures and twist them into something they’re not. It’s for clicks, it’s not reporting the truth. I’m not seeing someone. Other than you.”
“Oh.” I blush at the vehemence in his voice. “Good.”
“Yeah.” He shifts. “Is that why you were avoiding me?” The question is softer than his other words.
“Yeah…” I admit. I rub my arm absentmindedly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I don’t blame you, and you have nothing to be sorry for. Come here.”
I untangle myself from the blankets and he wraps me in a hug.
“You can always ask me if you want to know something, okay?”
“Okay.” I smile into his chest, fighting down the joy that I feel now that we’re seemingly back to normal. “So you’re not mad?”
“I could never be mad at you, Astrid.”
I smile. Well, this went better than I expected. I release a shaky breath, feeling lighter.
“Want a beer?” he asks when I pull away. He walks to the fridge and opens the door.
“Sure,” I say. A cold beer sounds really nice after the day that I’ve had. I spent the majority of it either terrified or depressed. “Thanks.”
“Cheers.” The bottles clink together.
“Cheers.”
He takes a long swig. I watch his Adam’s apple bob approvingly. I wish I could lick the stubble along his throat.
So much for trying not to be clingy.
I walk back into the living room and take up my spot again, Sean following behind me. His thigh brushes against mine as he sits down and the cushions dip beneath his weight.
I squirm on the couch, pulling my hair off my neck, hoping that if I cool down physically my thoughts will as well.
He licks his lips.
Oh. Well, that doesn’t help either.
I’m pleasantly surprised that he kept his word. After he skipped our run this morning, and all the stuff I saw online, I started to convince myself that maybe the connection I thought I was beginning to feel was something I made up entirely in my head.
“We could watch a movie in the theater?” he suggests.
“Like go to the movies?” I look from him to the beers.
“No, our theater.” He grins.
