Beautiful Mistake(74)

On the drive home, I gave myself a pep talk. I was over Caine West—I hadn’t really fallen in love with him. It was just lust. My nine-month dry spell had me confusing the two. I needed to get out more, maybe date people my own age. This was for the best. Goodbye, Caine West. Tomorrow comes with or without you, so I don’t need you to continue.

I prescribed my own musical therapy on the way home. Listening to Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song” had me feeling that I was not only going to be fine, but was actually better off without Caine. I’m pumped to be dumped, I thought to myself, laughing.

I parked my car in the overpriced lot near my apartment and sighed audibly. Convincing my head was a heck of a lot easier than convincing my heart. And with those two at odds, my emotions were all over the place. I went from pumped to plummeted in the span of turning off the car and walking five blocks home alone.

Lost in thought, I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. My footsteps were sluggish, and an unexpected panic hit me as I turned the corner to my building. I looked over my shoulder, across the street, up and down the block—all the while feeling a strong wave of anxiety. That feeling grew as I walked faster toward home. It wasn’t until I opened the outer door to my apartment building that the reason for my anxiety made itself known.

I jumped and screamed as I found someone standing in the vestibule. On instinct, I pulled back and punched as hard as I could, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Shit!” the intruder yelled.

Only…that voice. It wasn’t an intruder at all.

“Caine! What the hell? You scared the shit out of me. Again!”

His hand went to his face where I’d just decked him. “I can see that. You’re packing a pretty nice punch, Feisty.”

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” My heart was beating out of my chest.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was ringing the bell. I figured you’d be home by now since O’Leary’s closed at midnight.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He moved his hand, and I could see his cheek already starting to turn red and swell.

Caine nodded. “I deserved it anyway.”

Once the rush of adrenaline began to wear off, I realized my hand hurt, a lot. Opening and closing it, I wondered if I might have broken something.

“You hurt my hand.”

Caine pulled his head back. “I hurt your hand? You punched me.”

“Yeah, but it’s your fault for scaring the crap out of me. Again. What is it with you waiting in here anyway?”

“Let me see your hand.”

I held it out. It wasn’t cut or anything, but the knuckles on the middle and pointer fingers had started to swell. Caine took my hand in his and gently ran his thumb over my knuckles. A bolt of electricity shot through me that had nothing to do with the injury. I pulled my hand back quickly.

“That hurt?”

I lied. “Yeah.”

“We should put some ice on it.”

Hearing him say we, reminded me he shouldn’t even be here in the first place.

“What are you doing here?”

Caine looked down, then up at me. His beauty kicked my pulse up again. He looked tired and stressed, and had a lump growing on his face where I’d punched him, yet he was still absolutely gorgeous. The kind of handsome that never grows old because each time you’re amazed at the effect it has on you.

His voice was tender. “I need to talk to you. Please.”

“It’s late.”

“It can’t wait.”

When I hesitated before opening the door, he took that as a sign I might not be comfortable inviting him up.

“We could go get a cup of coffee or just take a walk, if you want.”

I dug into my purse for my keys. “No, it’s fine. I want to change out of my work clothes anyway.”

The elevator ride was awkward. The doors were silver and reflected Caine looking at me. I kept my eyes trained up, watching each floor illuminate as if the car was dependent on me for movement. The damn thing moved at a snail’s pace.

Inside my apartment, I went to the kitchen, dug a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, and handed them to Caine. “Your cheek is swelling.”

“It’s fine. Use that for your hand.”

I set the bag down on the kitchen counter and practically ran to my bedroom to change, needing to gather my thoughts. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Twenty minutes ago, I’d been angry-singing “Fight Song” in the car, wishing the man a good riddance, and now I was getting my hopes up because he’d showed up at my door. I was pathetic. What was he doing here? Had he been drinking? He’d better not think he was showing up for a booty call. Sex with Caine. I cursed my libido for even considering it.

I changed into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, brushed my hair, and washed up. I might have even spritzed on some perfume. (Don’t judge.) As I was about to walk back to the living room, I realized I wasn’t in the right frame of mind yet. Grabbing my iPhone, I opened my playlist and scrolled until I found something to change my mood back to pissed off. I stopped at Three Days Grace’s “I Hate Everything About You.”

That’ll do.

Lying back on my bed, I shut my eyes, popped in my earbuds, and reset myself. After, I felt stronger and ready to face Caine.