Page 28 of Fight For Me

“I don’t think—”

“You made it perfectly clear that you didn’t have those kinds of feelings for me.” I can still close my eyes and picture every nuance of his expression on that stupid night. The night when I misread a few seemingly flirty glances and let a few too many beers go to my head. Kissing Wyatt Warner under a sky full of stars had felt like the most perfect moment of my life—right up until he shoved me away, aghast. I can still hear the abject horror in his voice when he told me to never do that again.

I raise my chin as high as I can, determined not to let him see how that still affects me. I was barely twenty at the time. Still a kid. Of course he didn’t want me.

I just wish he could have been a little nicer about it.

“I got drunk and carried away and kissed you one night,” I say, impressed that my voice is perfectly steady. “You rejected me. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” he mutters under his breath, so quietly I barely hear it. But I hear enough to note the bitterness there.

“But since then, you barely ever come home. And when you do, you avoid me like the plague. It’s like you think I’m going to throw myself at you at any minute—”

“I don’t think—”

“It makes me feel shitty,” I say flatly. “The way you act around me makes me feel like you think I’m a silly, obsessed little girl and you need to be on guard against me turning into a clinger or something.”

He’s silent for so long I’m afraid he isn’t going to answer. When he finally does, his voice is strangely raspy, like he came down with a sudden sore throat in the last thirty seconds. “I never meant to make you feel that way. I don’t think you’re silly or a clinger.”

“Then why do you treat me like a bomb about to explode if you come near me?” I press.

He shifts in the darkness and I can see the outline of his hands shoving into his pockets. “I guess I thought it would be easier for you if I kept my distance.”

Wow. I thought it stung when he said he barely remembered the kiss. Why does this feel so much worse?

“I don’t need you to make it easier for me,” I snap. “You act like I’m obsessed with you or—” He snorts loudly and I freeze. “That’s funny?”

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “No. I didn’t mean—never mind, I’m sorry. I know you’re not obsessed with me. I know you don’t have a crush on me anymore.” The word crush sounds strangely bitter on his tongue and I wish he would move so I could try to read his face. “I’m sorry if it seems like I avoid you.”

It doesn’t just seem like it. He does avoid me, and we both know it. He skips holidays, doesn’t come home for birthdays. My family isn’t always with his—my parents like to travel and we spend a lot of our vacations and holidays exploring new places or on location for one of my mom’s assignments. It’s been pretty obvious over the last few years that the only time he comes home is when the Frasers aren’t around. If there’s any chance my family might be joining his, he stays away. Those moments we sat together at his grandmother’s funeral were the first real time we’ve spent together in more than two years. He didn’t act freaked out or push me away. Like a stupid idiot, I thought that meant something. But apparently, I was wrong.

Not for the first time where he’s concerned.

“Well, I’m not going to spend the next six weeks walking on egg shells around you,” I say. “If you’re going to keep up whatever this behavior is toward me, I don’t want you here.” I shake my head, annoyed by the entire thing. I’m supposed to be excited about this. I’m living in an amazing condo, I’m going to have my own show on TV, and my fashion line is ready to explode. I hate that he’s standing here with his scowly face and tense shoulders ruining it for me.

“Alex…” he doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally, he takes a step closer, a pool of light from the glass doors behind me illuminating his face. He looks blank, his features flat, but at least he isn’t glaring. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’ve been an asshole. I’ve…had a lot on my mind. But I promise I won’t be a dick if you guys let me stay here.”

I study him, unsure what to do with this sudden politeness. “You really aren’t planning to spy on us for the parents?”

“Of course not.”

“And you aren’t going to babysit us?” He pauses. It’s brief, but it’s enough. “Wyatt!”

“I’m not going to babysit you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t step in if someone is messing with you.”

I frown. “Who do you think is going to be messing with me?”

He shrugs, but his jaw has gone tight. “I’m just saying, I’ll be around if you need help.” He meets my eyes, his gaze shifting from blank to suddenly intense, the change so quick it makes my breath catch. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

Damn it, why does that tone make me want to step closer? Why do I want to reach for him, to trace his full bottom lip with the tip of my finger? This guy has made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t want anything like that from me, not ever.

So the question is, can I live with this? Can I handle having to look at him every day? And, if I’m being honest with myself, can I handle wanting him every day? When I know he’ll never want the same?

“It’s going to be fine, Alex,” he says, his voice gentle. Smooth. Like a cup of hot cocoa I want to curl up with. He smiles, the same smile that’s been making my heart go crazy since I was a silly teenager. “I promise. You’ll barely even know I’m here.”

Yeah. Fat fucking chance.

Wyatt