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I’ve never wanted to apologize for the consequences of my harsh words. Never felt instant regret at the way I wield my power, protecting myself at all costs.
But one look at Ezra and I wish I could gobble the words back up.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice soft but I don’t miss the venom in them. “You have a contract to fulfill.” I gulp at his words, keeping my stare even to match his. “Meet me at my place tonight.”
He doesn’t offer another word as he turns to walk away from me.
The idea that both of us could be so wrapped up in one another that we refuse to walk away without experiencing the full sting of our connection makes me realize something: we aren’t gluttons for punishment. We’re starved for it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING HERE?
EZRA
What the fuckam I doing here?
I pace my living room, angered by the sight of the new furniture I purchased to fill the empty spaces. The empty spaces I’d hopeshe’dfill.
But the look in her eyes, the words that she said, all told me that I was wasting my fucking time here.
Because love doesn’t matter if it isn’t willingly given or willingly returned.
I want you to come with me.
The words ring out, words I’d uttered in a moment of sheer vulnerability. Words I’d hoped to give her with more time, with her body languid next to mine.
Words that didn’t warrant the slightest of reactions from her.
I hadn’t told her when to show up, so I wait here alone, for her presence to break through and pierce the melancholy of my solitude.
Fuck, what am I doing here?
I hear the rocks kick up under her tires as her car makes its way down my driveway. In an effort to keep from rushing tomeet her, to keep from making a complete fucking fool of myself, I sit down on the suede sectional, clasping my hands as I wait for her to walk inside. For her to introduce her scent to a space that has long forgotten it.
What thefuckam I doing here?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I WANT YOU TO COME WITH ME
ELOISE
Ezra’s beenquiet since I got here, sitting on his brand-new sectional with his elbows on his knees. His eyes haven’t met mine, and he hasn’t acknowledged my presence in the slightest.
There’s a large television mounted to the far wall, and he’s even gotten a coffee table. His house is starting to look like a home. It’s all I can focus on as we sit here, neither of us speaking.
What was the motive here?
What was the motive for any of this?
The silence goes on and I refuse to be the one to break it. I did my part. I showed up.
Should I just leave?—
“What’s hardened your heart?” His head hangs down for a second before he peers over at me. I’ve loved and hated the sight of his assessing gaze. In this moment, I can’t decide.
The answer to his question is easy. It’s one that didn’t require years of therapy and thousands of dollars to accept. “I fell in love with the men in stories I’d read. No one else could ever compare.”
