Harder (Caroline & West #2)(37)

“It doesn’t have to, though.”

“What if I want it to?”

“Caro …” He leans closer. I think he’s going to touch me. All he has to do is reach out his hand—find my waist or my shoulder—but he doesn’t. He sighs. Descends a step. “It’s better this way.”

“I don’t believe that. For me, nothing is better.”

He crosses his arms. “It’ll get better.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

Then he’s quiet for a long time.

He looks at me hard and long, so I look right back at him. I wonder if my face is any easier to read in the dark than his.

I wonder if he misses me in his bed at night the way I miss him in mine.

I don’t understand what’s in his head anymore. What he thinks he’s doing and why he thinks he’s doing it. He pushed me away as hard as he could, but now he’s come back to Putnam, so why doesn’t he come back to me?

What I did to you …

That memory, so raw for me. I avoid thinking about it.

It must be the same for him.

But if it’s just that memory that keeps him from me—if it’s his sense of honor, as if I’m a princess in a tower and he’s soiled my gown so that’s the end of it—f*ck that.

Fuck that with a tire iron, is my feeling. If he’s going to deny himself what he wants, deny me what I want, there’s nothing honorable in that. It’s just pigheaded stubborn idiocy, and I won’t stand for it.

Which is the sort of thing it’s easy enough to think. But what do you do?

West and I, we look at each other.

It’s heartbreaking. His pretty cheekbones, the scar in his eyebrow, his nose slightly off center, his ears too small, his mouth so wide and expressive and perfect.

It’s heartbreaking, knowing there was a time when I could’ve taken him inside and put him to bed, given him some ease, given him something. But that time came and went, and this is the time we’re in now.

The waste of it makes my throat tight.

“I feel guilty,” he says. “Like I’m taking advantage of you when you’re watching Frankie, only I can’t stop taking advantage because I never f*cking asked you to watch her, and when I tell you to quit, you don’t.”

“That must be tough for you.”

He laughs. “Fuck you, Caro.”

“Wish you would.”

“Christ Jesus.” His hand comes up to brush over his hair and hang up at the back of his neck. He exhales, rough, and I love it. Love getting under his skin.

I love the confirmation and the hit of truth, lust spiking like nicotine through my blood.

It feels like a game, although I know for West it’s dead serious. It’s just that we’ve played this way before. The Caroline who played this game last year was scared and damaged and cautious, but I’m not any of those things anymore. I’m winning, and we’ve barely even started.

“Keep it to once or twice a week, all right?” he says. “You’ve got your own shit to be taking care of. And I don’t want you spending money on her. Leave me your receipts and I’ll pay you back.”

“Really? We’re going to do accounting on this?”

“Cut me some minuscule f*cking piece of slack. You’re getting your way on everything else.”

“Not hardly.”

“Caroline.” He recrosses his arms.

“West.” I cross mine.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

“I’m going to be around. You’re going to have to deal with it. Deal with me. Stop pretending I don’t exist or that everything’s going to be fine if you say so.”

He makes me wait for his reply. It drags out of his chest, rumbling and low. “Fine.”

I lean down to pick up my bag. My knees threaten to buckle. I’m a cocktail of adrenaline and desire, my body dangerous and stupid.

When I return to standing, he’s still looking, and it’s worse. Better-worse.

Always better-worse, with West.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m trying to figure out your strategy.”

“Who, me? Why would you think I have a strategy?”

“You’re a politician, Caro. You’ve always got a strategy.”

“You make me sound so sneaky.”

“No, not sneaky. But you gotta admit, you’re not always direct.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re not so amenable to the direct approach.”

“Amenable, huh?” His smile races through me.

“Don’t even pretend not to know what it means.”

He shakes his head, slow and weary. “I’m not the one who’s pretending.”

“Being indirect isn’t the same as pretending. Especially when you know if you ask straight up, you’ll get shot down.”

“Why don’t you try it and find out?”

“Not tonight.”

“You already got what you wanted tonight.”

I readjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder. Rise up on my toes, bringing my face a little closer to his. My mouth a little closer. “Not even close.”

The breath explodes out of him. He turns his head away. “There’s no reason you have to hang around till I’m home, you know.”