Page 82 of Loverboy

His eyes searched mine. “How would you know?”

The question split me wide open.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer.

“What does it mean?” I pressed, on the cusp of breaking.

“Do you think I don’t know you?” His voice wavered. “That I haven’t watched you settle for scraps for seven years?”

“I don’t.” I hiccuped. “I don’t do it on purpose.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I know you don’t, Milo.”

There was nowhere to hide. He fully cupped my cheek with one hand, swiping away tears before they could reach my temples. As my chest heaved, he kissed me again, swallowing the sob that bubbled up.

“I’ll give you everything,” he whispered. “You just have to let me.”

I wanted to.

“I’m scared.”

He hushed my admission with another brush of his lips. Soft. Hard. Patient, and yet somehow demanding—threatening to reach inside of me and suck everything out.

“What are you scared of?” His fingers curled around the back of my neck, thumb brushing over the shell of my ear.

I shook my head.

“Milo,” he soothed. “Look at me.”

“I’m needy.”

“Yes. We know this.”

We’d had this conversation a dozen times before.

“I’ll get jealous.”

“You already do.” He grinned.

I paused, reaching into every dark corner, looking for a reason this wouldn’t work.

“You’ll blow up my phone?” he supplied. “Definitely haven’t done that before.”

“I’m being serious!”

He grunted. “And I’m not?”

I studied him, searching for hesitation that was nowhere to be found. I’d been here before, in the sparkling eyes of girls who swore up and down they could handle me, who looked at me like I was a project. Something they could fix.

“It won’t get better,” I said grimly. “There’s no fixing me.”

“I don’t want to fix you.” He shrugged. “I want to love you.”

My heart stopped, then restarted twice as fast. Heat rushed to my cheeks, excitement and embarrassment tangling up inside me. How could he say something so devastating, so casually?

The urge to fight rose.