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He runs his hands over his face, head dropping. “No,” he says adamantly. He looks up at me. “We can’t. I care about you, Laila, I really do. But I’m not going to string you along like this if I know where your heart is at. I won’t do that to you.”
“But I don’t understand,” I say softly, making fists in the sheets, the anger and frustration rising inside me. Frustration at the situation, at how quick he is to call things off, anger at myself for saying anything at all. I hold my tongue because I know if I say anything now my words are going to be harsh and full of venom. I need to be quiet; I need to let him go and not make this worse than it already is.
I feel my eyes filling with tears, and I don’t bother to wipe them away. I don’t care that I’m crying, I don’t care that he sees me like this. He knows how I feel, so he might as well know what I’m going through, the hurt I’m feeling now.
He’s watching me, his face unreadable. “I’ll miss you,” he says quietly. “Miss us.”
Hearing him say that just makes my heart sink even more.
“Will you?” I ask softly.
He swallows thickly and nods. “It’s always fun until someone gets hurt. If both our jobs weren’t on the line, if it wasn’t a big deal to be together…”
I stare at him through my blurry vision. I know what he’s not saying. That it doesn’t matter that we could never be. Even if I quit, he still wouldn’t want me for anything more than sex. I know it.
The thing is, I’m not asking for anything more.
He opens his mouth to say something but then he closes it again, his features hardening.
“I’m sorry,” he says, turning around and heading for the door.
“Don’t go,” I finally say, voice cracking.
“I have to,” he says, looking back at me. “I have to go. For both our sakes.”
And then he’s gone.
I’m left in bed, heart aching, tears flowing freely from my eyes.
I’m so foolish. I left the door open in my heart, just a crack, and it was enough to lose it all.
Thirteen
LAILA
“Bjorn, don’t touch that,” I warn. “I forbid you to touch that.”
He stares at me for a moment with his bright blue-green eyes, and I think maybe, just maybe, he’s not going to shove his hand into the bowl of freshly mixed cookie dough that I just put on the table.
But then that diabolical grin comes across his face, the one that makes him look like the kid from The Omen, and he plunges his hand right into the bowl, laughing as he goes.
“No!” I cry, trying to snatch the dough away from him, but he’s a quick little demon and he’s already got a handful of it, chocolate chips and all.
“That’s for the cookies,” I tell him, “not for you to eat.”
“But I’m hungry,” Bjorn protests.
“You’re always hungry,” I tell him. “You eat like a horse.”
“I do not,” Bjorn says indignantly. “I eat like a human being.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, you eat like a human being. But that doesn’t mean you get to eat the dough.”
Bjorn makes a face. “But it’s so good,” he says plaintively.
“No, it’s not,” I tell him. “It’s raw. You’re not supposed to eat raw cookie dough.”
“Why not?” Bjorn asks, shoving more in his mouth. “It’s delicious.”
