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"Or... What the hell do I know?" She winks at me. "I just program a little game all day."
Wow... Did she scoop inside my brain? I guess I overlooked the part where I invited a mind reader into my apartment, who I apparently share more in common with than I've ever thought. And her passion... the determination she had to set me straight and rid me of my sorrows...
Shame consumes me. "After the way I treated you all those years ago, I don't deserve your kindness."
"Maybe not," she admits. "But... after what happened on the terrace, I saw how my silence hurt you. As a friend, I should've talked to you. Sure, I had the right to be upset about the necklace thing, but..." Her voice wobbles, effectively scraping a shard of ice down my throat, before she steadies herself. "We were quite young. I don't blame you, for not knowing how you felt about me. I know you said I deserve better, but I'm sure that's how you feel now about—"
There she goes again. About to forget me.
"No," I interject. "My feelings were as real as they are now."
Her breath hitches, emotions rolling through her stare, as her body gravitates toward me, closer and closer, before she jerks back to center. "You don't need to sugarcoat it, Hayden. What happened, happened. Perhaps you lost interest or—"
"No. Just... no. Stop right there."
Her shoulders slouch in confusion.
I huff a sigh. Five years, and the mistake still haunts me. There's a reason I never speak of it, let alone think of the ways I must've hurt her. Sometimes, though, I dream about it, of how she must've found out. On a tabloid or some gossip site.
I look away, hoping to make it easier.
"Everything I said to you that night, in your room... it was true. I don't care if we were young, I knew how I felt. Didn't want to, honestly, but there was no denying it, once I found out you weren't coming to Princeton. I was angry—so, so angry—and couldn't bear the thought of all the pricks who'd throw themselves onto you. So, I thought I'd give them something to look at. Maybe then, they'd realize you were off limits. Or that you'd remember me, from time to time."
"Is that why you gave the same necklace to that actress? Ensure everyone in Hollywood knew she was taken?"
I cringe, her sour tone delivering a stinging blow. Looking her in the eye, I say, "I'm sorry," and mean it, deeply, even though I know it'll do little good, especially since I took advantage, knowing she was inexperienced, and stole her first kiss, needing that claim on her.
"I was dumb. Insecure. Something I'd never dealt with before, not when it came to girls. When I left, I was convinced you'd forget about me, no matter what. So... I convinced myself that I didn't care, that I'd forget about you before you did me. I moved onto new flings—models, influencers, fucking anybody—flew through the dating scene like I was speed running Monopoly, and kept doing so, until you came back into my life. I even gave that stupid actress—I don't even remember her name—the exact same necklace, hoping I'd feel the same way about her, about any other girl, but I just couldn't. And I still can't."
A glossy film coats Juliana's eyes, but she blinks rapidly, fighting off the emotions. I don't blame her for hesitating. Why would she trust a word that passes my lips? She pushes anyway, and even though she stares straight down into her lap, she asks on a mere whisper, "What are you saying, Hayden?"
I pinch her chin, lift until she meets my gaze, and reveal those doe eyes I know so well. God. She's so beautiful. I keep saying it, but... how is she this breathtaking? How could any man not help but fall for her?
I lean in, encroaching on her space, my heart clenching when her eyes flick back and forth between mine.
"That I treated you as if you were just another conquest, when I should've treated you like you were everything."
She melts into my touch, drawing closer, so near that her cherry scent wafts through my nostrils, bathing my senses in all things her, and deterring even the simplest thoughts. Her eyes flutter down to my lips, and mine hers. Soft and supple, they part on a jagged, minty breath—a tantalizing preview of the second taste I've craved for five years.
"What about my brother?" she manages to ask.
I barely hear her question over the blood pounding in my ears. What about Jeremy? Oh yes, he'll kill me, no doubt, but I'll die a happy man, if only I seize another shot at the other night. Except... I realize something, in her nearness, in the wake of all that's been said.
I don't want to ruin Juliana. I want to cherish her.
If she wants to take it slow, we'll take it slow.
If she wants more, I'll drop to my knees in worship.
Anything and everything can be hers.
As long as it's from me.
Which poses quite the problem, you see, for these feelings insult the most cardinal rule of them all...
Rule #10: A playboy never falls in love.
"Fuck it."
