IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(82)

At the mention of food, his stomach growled loud enough to be heard over the dwindling crowd. My lips twitched into a smile. “I take that as a no. Want to go grab a bite?”

He hesitated, breaking eye contact to look around. “Finding a place to eat without a reservation is going to be a nightmare.”

My stomach clenched, wondering if it was an excuse—a polite way of declining my invitation. Maybe he didn’t want to spend any more time with me than he had to. “Oh. Okay. Well.”

Conor blinked back up at me, unsure. “There’s, um… always room service. And it’s technically your room anyway. That way you can change… I mean, if you want… and we won’t have to worry about the crowds…”

“That sounds perfect,” I said, trying not to let my sigh of relief escape.

Conor grabbed a backpack from the floor by his feet and slung it over his shoulder. As we made our way out of the ballroom and into the crush of the large hall, I wanted to reach for his hand to keep him close among all the other people around us. But I didn’t. The closest I came was putting my hand on his lower back when a hotel elevator opened up.

Once we entered the hotel room, I noticed how much quieter it was. Conor let out a breath and set his backpack down in the corner. I went straight to the desk and found the menu. I handed it to him and started for the bathroom. “You figure out what you want to eat while I change.”

“Wait.” There was an authority to Conor’s voice that caused me to stop in my tracks. I turned to face him.

Whatever courage had possessed him a moment ago seemed to have fled. He now appeared awkward, his eyes flitting everywhere but at me. He took turns sitting at the desk chair and popping back up again to fiddle with different items like the curtains, the notepad and pen set, and the little coffee maker caddy.

He looked untethered. Like he needed something, or someone, to anchor him.

Finally I pointed to the bed. “Sit.”

Conor’s nostrils flared in defiance, but he sank onto the king-sized bed facing me.

I crossed my arms but kept my expression soft. “Good. Now tell me what you’re thinking and don’t hold anything back.”

His jaw tightened before he spoke. “I’m thinking I want to get you naked.”

It wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting. Heat shot to my dick, and I swallowed a groan. Mentally I’d already begun to undress him when he added, “But I’m also thinking I shouldn’t want that.”

The mental image I’d been enjoying disintegrated. “Because?”

“Because I feel like an idiot, Wells!” He popped up from the bed and started pacing. “You knew. All that time when I was… when I was making myself vulnerable to you, you knew it was me,” he said, waving his arms for emphasis. “You knew about my mom. I told you things I never would have told you if I’d known you weren’t some random stranger. I told you what turned me on and what I wanted in bed and I told you—”

He’d begun speaking so frantically, I was afraid he’d hyperventilate. In one swift move, I reached out and snagged his wrist, pulling him until he was flush against me. Then I cupped his cheeks and forced him to meet my eyes. His hands came up to hold my wrists and I noticed them trembling slightly.

“I did know it was you,” I told him. “I’m so sorry, baby. Please… please believe me. I’m so, so sorry I hurt you. I never want to hurt you. I never want to make you feel more vulnerable or have regrets. I want you to be happy, to thrive. And if I could do it all over again, I… hell, Conor.”

I swallowed, wishing I could tell him what he wanted to hear, but knowing I had to tell him the truth. “I don’t know what to say. I know I should have told you I was Trace, and I regret that more than anything. But I can’t apologize for those moments we shared. I loved every second of my interactions with NotSam. It’s so hard to say I’d give it up if I could. Because I’m not sure I would.”

I ran a thumb down his cheek, brushing the corner of his lip. “I learned things about you as Trace that I’m not sure I would have learned otherwise. That I’m not sure you would have ever told me if it had just been us face-to-face.”

“I miss you,” Conor said so softly I almost didn’t hear it. “I miss you so much, it hurts.” He shook his head, his words brimming with pain. “But I know you don’t do relationships, so I don’t know what to wish for.”

“Oh, Conor.” I breathed his name like it was precious treasure and I was its keeper. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead into his. “I am in this, Conor. If you’ll have me.”

I swallowed, needing to share it all with him. My deepest fears. My most vulnerable places. “I was scared,” I told him. “Stupidly scared of being hurt again. But I’m already hurt. Don’t you see? I’m hurting now. My biggest fear in putting myself out there was falling for someone who would leave me. But I already fell. And you already left. And now nothing is okay. I don’t want to move forward without you.”

The words came out of me trembling and desperate. I’d laid myself utterly bare before him in a way I’d never done for another person. It was all I knew how to do—to show him I was his and hope that he would want me.

He moved until the soft whiskers of his several-day stubble brushed my cheek a split second before his gentle lips followed. They trailed a whisper line across my face almost as if he didn’t realize he was doing it.