Page 57 of Sweet Distraction

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There is,” he says. “Come on. Open up.”

Can he hear my heart pounding like I can?

“Don’t worry about it,” I say as casually as I can, aware that Poppy is within earshot. “You were drunk. Overwhelmed. I just happened to be there. Like you said, you like to F whatever it is out of your system, and I was . . . within reach.”

There’s a rustle. A muffled curse. What sounds like a long, ragged breath through clenched teeth.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But you did.” I pause and state what has bugged me all day. “And you weren’t lying, were you?”

Silence for a beat. “It’d had been a long night. I was blowing off steam in the privacy of my own home. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, Wills. That’s all.”

“Otherwise, you wouldn’t give me a second thought.”

“Exactly.”

The admission hits way harder than I had anticipated.

Not because I didn’t expect something indifferent—he’s a rock star, after all, no doubt a master of detachment if his night with Olivia is any indication—but because part of me hoped the kiss wasn’t simply because I was a body in the blast radius. And ego wise, those words are a pretty brutal blow to my self-esteem.

But I didn’t walk away knowing all of that before I even stepped foot in that room and that’s on me.

“This conversation would be so much easier if I could see you,” he says.

I hesitate for a beat and then open the door.

He’s standing there in joggers, a black tee, and barefoot again. His hair is messy and face is unshaven. He looks like he’s been wrestling with things he doesn’t know how to say.

That makes me feel a little better. At least I’m not the only one grappling with how to speak about what happened.

And at least he’s addressing it when I chose to avoid him all day, so there’s that.

But for fuck’s sake, the moment our eyes meet, I relive it all over again. The treacherous heat. The bone-melting kiss. The undeniable tension.

The oh fuck that followed right after.

“Hi,” he says, eyebrows lifting and then a sheepish, lopsided smile.

Jesus. Why does he have to be so attractive?

I glance over to where Poppy is still “reading” to make sure she’s okay and then back to him.

“It’s open. You see me. What more needs to be said?” I ask stoically.

“Look. I screwed up. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’ve been messed up since you got here, and I took advantage of the situation simply because you know that. I apologize, and I’m sure I’ll apologize again. I don’t want this to affect things,” he says gruffly.

“Because you screwed up or because you’re afraid I’ll leave, and you’ll have to figure out Poppy all on your own?”

“Truth?”

“Preferably.”

“Both.”

I exhale and nod. “What if I tell you that leaving is still on the table?”