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She blinks, gazing at me so intently I wonder what she’s searching for in my eyes.
“I like you more than I should,” I admit.
Her face screws up and scrunches in a scowl.
Shit. Obviously that didn’t come out as well as it should have. Instead of professing my heartfelt feelings for her, I sound like I’m regretting any connection.
But it’s too late, as usual, to take it back. I can’t undo my words. They’re out there, hanging awkwardly between us, so I may as well continue and roll with this.
Think!
I clear my throat and try to keep my cool. “I enjoyed hooking up with you.”
That’s not bad. It’s true.
“And I’d like to do it again,” I add slowly as though I need to test out the words as they leave my mouth.
No. That isn’t good either. I’m making it sound like I expect more. Or she owes me. Or some other power play I’m not even sure I’ve started. My words feel off and jumbled. I’m totally off my game, and I know it’s because this matters too damn much. She has come to matter so much that I’m scared of screwing up.
As I freak out about my blunt and poorly planned words, Aubrey stares at me. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch. With an almost blank expression, she locks her eyes on me without a hint of what she’s thinking. I can only imagine, and my eagerness to hear her reply feels more and more urgent with every second of quiet that passes.
Finally, she gives me the barest movement, a slight nod. “Fine.”
My hackles raise. I don’t like that word from her, especially in that whatever tone. “Fine?” I retort.
“Yeah. This hookup was just for fun. That’s all.” She ends it with a shrug, suggesting her indifference, but I can tell she’s hiding behind that canned answer.
She’s not arguing, though, simply parroting back my words, and I’m lost and so confused about what to say now.
“Right.” I nod, agreeing but not at all feeling the same. Admitting we just hooked up for fun sounds too much like we participated in a pastime to kill the hours we were stuck here in the storm. Agreeing with her doesn’t sit well with me. Deep down, that statement contradicts what I feel, but I can’t figure out a quick and clear way to express what I’m hung up about.
I don’t have ample time to present my case. I don’t even know how to explain what I feel or what I want, and by the time I bumble through an attempt of voicing it, she’ll talk faster. She’s used to negotiating with terrorists like entitled children and their parents, and I’ll be intimidated even more into the easy route of being quiet instead of speaking up.
This standoff feels monumental. I’m facing the woman I’m sure I could fall in love with. I’m that close to committing to her or wanting to suggest we deepen this connection. I could easily give Aubrey my heart, and with that, I would let her hurt me just like Johanna did.
Letting Aubrey in at all feels too risky. I’m still exposed and raw, wounded from the way Johanna treated me, and I’m not sure if the scar tissue from all of that has completely healed over to make me strong enough. I can’t tell if I’m there yet, safe from a second burn of heartache. I know I will be one day, but I’m not confident it’s today, with Aubrey, despite how badly I wish I could be whole and “normal” to do this with her.
“Fine.” With all the chaotic thoughts and worries filling my mind, that one word she likes to abuse is the only thing I can say.
She arches her brows, perhaps surprised that I was mimicking her. “Are you mocking me?”
“No. It’s fine.” I shrug, deepening my lie. “Just a hookup. That was it.”
I can’t face her anymore after those hard, false words. I storm off, furious that she’s rendered me a confused, clumsy mess who can’t handle a conversation like that. Before Johanna, I was alright with accepting rejections. It never happened often, in the name of business or love, but over the years, I learned how to handle negatives and uncooperative answers.
I cannot stomach the fact that Aubrey doesn’t want me. That she views me as nothing but a way to relieve a physical or hormonal itch to get laid. It cheapens my memories of last night, and I only hope that walking away will give me a clearer sense of figuring this—and her—out.
“Just a hookup,” I mumble as I head up to my room.
“It was more than that, and you know it,” I tell my empty bedroom. Saying that would have been smarter. If I’d relayed that specific message to her, she at least would have known where I stood on this matter.
Right now, I’m too mad. Anger lingers from the way Hayes talked about Aubrey like she was an object. Pain creeps in, filling me up as I think back to her and how she dismissed me as a hookup, a fling.
I’m sick of pacing, and I don’t want to go outside and be near Hayes yet. If he tries to give me any more shit or start more trouble by commenting about something about her, I will lose it and punch him. I won’t admit it to her, but Aubrey has a good point. I can’t lash out right now because I’m supposed to be “working” here until the owners return.
And blessedly, they do. Caleb told me they’d be back tomorrow morning, but by the time I step out of the shower and get dressed, I can see through the window that my truck Caleb borrowed is parked at the side of the house.
They’re back, and I’m excited to have a buffer from dealing with Aubrey again.
