That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(75)

He runs his tongue along his lips. “I think you need to accept that, yeah, we know how to fuck, and that’s been good, but in the long run we’re not compatible.” I reel back from the verbal slap to the face he just delivered.

We know how to fuck? Yes, the physical chemistry has been a huge plus when it comes to Reid, but it’s not why I chose him, why I still choose him, why I love this man standing in front of me, the one purposefully trying to break my heart.

I love Reid because he challenges me, because he’s a roller coaster. He gives me highs and lows, he keeps me guessing, he shows me that life isn’t about walking around wearing rose-colored glasses. There’s defeat, there’s sorrow, and there are moments of utter clarity that mold you.

And even though I don’t truly want to admit this, and I would probably never say this to Reid, I sense his need, like he needs my spirit, my thoughts, my mind. I took care of my parents, and even though it was devastating to watch them slowly fade away, it filled a hole in my heart I never knew I had: the urge to take care of someone. Reid considers himself a burden on me, but he isn’t—in fact, he fills a part of my soul that’s been gaping ever since I lost my parents.

“How could you say we’re not compatible? Don’t you see how well we fit together?”

Growling, he rakes both his hands through his hair. “This is over, and the sooner you understand that, the better.”

Like a knife to the chest, his words stab me, cutting me to my very core. “You don’t mean this. What about last night; what about our plans? What about me being the girl for you? Where did all that go?”

He casually shrugs. “Sometimes you can’t have it all.”

He takes a step back, and my heart lurches. “Reid, don’t do this. Talk to me.”

“Nothing to talk about, Eve. It’s over.”

“Just like that? You’re just calling it?”

He reaches for the door handle of his truck. “Someone has to be smart about this.”

“You think you’re being smart? Okay, genius, tell me how you expect us to work together with this heartbreak hanging between us?”

He glances at me, his blue eyes flashing with confidence, though not for him . . . but for me. “You’re a professional, Eve. I know you’ll be able to handle it.”

With that, he gets in his truck, and it roars to life. Without a backward glance, he takes off, leaving me and my bruised, battered heart in the parking lot of my apartment building.



You’re a professional, Eve.

That’s what I keep telling myself over and over again as I stand next to Reid, the scent of his cologne hitting me in the gut, the warmth of his arm so close to mine that if I step an inch to the left, our skin will be touching.

And my eyes can’t help but wander over his body as he speaks to Giselle, directing her and the construction manager, Dale, with precise detail.

When his arm lifts to point, I take in the definition of his forearm, the indent on the inside of his biceps, the shapeliness of his shoulder and how it used to feel wrapped warmly around me, cocooning me into his body.

When he speaks, I close my eyes as I listen to the deep baritone of his voice floating around me like a warm hug, remembering all the times he would gently whisper into my ear when he was deep inside of me.

And when he stands there, listening intently to everyone present at the meeting, I can’t help but stare at the dark scruff that lines his jaw—the same scruff that left delicious beard burns up and down my legs—or the way his backward hat seems to intensify his eyes somehow, lending them the same fire that would smolder in them whenever I walked into a room.

It’s been one week, but every time I look at him, my heart feels like it’s being ripped out all over again.

That night . . . I don’t think I’ve ever cried as hard as I did after he left. I fled to my apartment, locked myself in my room, and buried my head in my pillow. The grief, the anger, the confusion—all of them poured out of me at once. The next day when Eric took in my appearance and asked if I was okay, I just nodded and told him the spring allergies were getting me. I don’t think he believed it, but he didn’t ask any other questions.

Every night after that, I’ve done the same thing: I’ve gone straight from work to the apartment, barricading myself in my room and insisting to Eric that I need privacy to study—though I have yet to open a textbook since Reid broke things off.

And Reid thinks this is for the better? Maybe for him. In a cruel twist of fate, he actually looks hotter, seems more confident, and exudes nothing but excitement as he checks over every last detail of the restaurant.

Then there’s me, the walking dead. I’m pretty sure I have mascara on only one eye today, I can’t remember the last time I brushed my hair, and I know for damn sure that my socks don’t match. This breakup most definitely hasn’t made my life any easier.

And the loss is starting to eat away at me. At my confidence, at my energy, at my ability to focus—hence why I can’t take my eyes off his pecs right now.

“What do you think, Eve?” Eric asks, snapping me to attention.

“Um, yeah, great,” I answer, not quite sure what the hell we’re talking about.

“Then we all agree,” Reid says. “I look forward to seeing how it all turns out.” He glances at his watch. “Have a shift at the Landing. Got to go. I’ll catch you two later.” He gives us a quick wave, and just to be an ass, I flutter my fingers at him. I’m tempted to toss him a middle finger as well but hold back.