Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(92)
He puts his lips against my ear and speaks softly and slowly, like you would to a scared wild animal. Or someone really stupid.
“Number one, I don’t give a fuck about our age difference. Neither should you. Number two, my house is always filled with people because I’m lonely, not because I love parties. Two B, my life isn’t glamorous. Before I met you, it was a car goin’ a hundred kilometers an hour straight toward a cliff. Number three, the only thing I’ll ever resent about you is your relentless commitment to put yourself down. I don’t have an answer to the possibility that you might get homesick, but I bloody sure would do my best to make sure you feel as at home in my home as you do here. And number fucking four, whatever problems we have in our lives would be made significantly better by bein’ with the only person either one of us can trust.
“You’re not a crutch to me, Joellen. You’re a gift. If you don’t want to come to Scotland because you just don’t want to be with me, have the balls to say it, but don’t feed me any more excuses. And stop applyin’ your worst-case-scenario thinkin’ to this thing between us—keep that negative bullshit in check.”
There’s a long, terrible silence in which I stare out the window at the flurries of snow and try my damnedest to keep myself together even though he just completely broke me apart.
Normally this is where I’d burst into tears and hurry home to stress eat. No—that’s incorrect. Normally there’s no universe where a smokin’ hot pink-bathrobe-wearing famous athlete just screwed me silly and invited me to come live with him in Europe, but apparently this is my new normal, so I’m just going to have to suck it up and deal with it the best way I know how.
“I bet you probably only have, like, vanilla ice cream at your house, though.”
Cam starts to laugh, softly at first, but then he gives over to it and collapses against the bed, shaking the mattress and both of us as the gales overtake him.
“Sheesh, prancer. You’re crap with staying mad at someone, you know that?”
“No, lass.” He drags me on top of him—manhandling me in that wonderful way he has that makes me feel tiny and feminine and grateful for his dedication to growing his muscles so large—and gazes up at me, smiling. “You’re just too weird and wonderful to stay mad at for long.”
He kisses me, his hands in my hair and a smile on his mouth. He tucks me in under his arm, and I listen to his breathing grow deeper and more even until I know he’s asleep.
I lie next to him and breathe him in one last time, telling myself it’s for the best if I slip out before he wakes so we can avoid the inevitable morning-after awkwardness.
Then I gather my dress and shoes from the floor and tiptoe out, closing the door softly behind me.
THIRTY-THREE
It’s Christmas Eve, the third most depressing day of the year behind Christmas itself and Valentine’s Day. This year is even worse than usual because not only does Michael Maddox still not love me, I couldn’t care less because I’ve gone and fallen for yet another man I’ll never have a future with.
I guess it’s just my thing.
I’m lying in bed with Mr. Bingley, staring at the ceiling, feeling sorry for myself, when I hear a knock on the door. His knock. He must’ve just woken up, because it’s still dark outside.
“I’m not going to answer it,” I tell the cat, who gives me a disgusted look, which makes me defensive. “What’re you being so judgy for?”
His expression says I know exactly what I’ve done wrong and I should be ashamed of myself. Now I feel worse because even a stupid cat is smarter than me.
Cam’s knock comes louder and louder, until I hear his voice through the door. “I know you’re in there. I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll be out here knockin’ until you open up.”
I sigh, give myself a pep talk that it’ll be better to get it over with, and get out of bed. I shuffle to the front door with a blanket wrapped around me.
“Joellen!”
“I’m right here, prancer,” I say through the door. “Don’t wake up the building.”
“Open up.”
I rest my forehead against the door. “I can’t. I’m too busy kicking myself.”
“Are you fucking serious? Open the goddamn door.”
He sounds mad. I look through the peephole only to find a pair of hazel eyes glaring at me.
“I can see your head, lass. We’ve already been over this.”
I take a few deep calming breaths, then crack open the door. Cam pushes right through it, knocking me out of the way in the process. Halfway to the living room, he spins on his heel and glares at me in person.
“Tell me I’m wrong and you didn’t sneak out without saying good-bye after we had sex four times and some intense, soul-baring afterglow. Tell me you just came over to feed the cat and were on your way back when I knocked.”
I wince and wrap the blanket tighter around me. “Um.”
He looks astonished, offended, and totally angry. “You fucking ghosted me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did!”
“No, ghosting is when you’re dating someone and you break up with them and disappear from their life without any explanation. Me leaving earlier was just . . .” I struggle to find an appropriate word. “Expedient.”