An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(58)

He’s hard. He still wants me.

“Fuck,” he whispers right against my lips, eyes closing briefly as he releases a strained breath. “How?”

It’s a reasonable question, but I was hoping he wouldn’t ask it. I want to dart my gaze away, but the look in his eyes has me in a chokehold. “I – I don’t know. I haven’t wanted to. It hasn’t felt right.” Lifting my hands to his waist, I finger his belt loops, wondering why he hasn’t pulled away yet. “Have I scared you away?”

He lifts his forehead from mine, jaw ticking. “Are you kidding me? Fuck if that doesn’t make me want you more,” he says raggedly. “But I get it. And I’ll back off.”

Isn’t that what I want?

It is, it should be, but my chest still pangs with disappointment. “Is it a burden?”

“A burden?” His eyebrows twist up like the question is absurd. “Fuck no. It’s an honor. An honor I probably don’t deserve.”

“Why not?” I murmur.

Glancing off to the side, Cal lets out a breath and takes a step back, leaving the warm juncture between my legs. He cracks his knuckles and moves in beside me, leaning against the counter. “Because I’m not that guy. You held onto something important for years, and you should give it to someone who’ll treat you right. Who’ll give you everything that goes along with a gift like that.” The cords in his neck dilate as he looks down at his boots. “But…if you want to give it to me anyway, I’m not going to say no. I’m not that guy either. Just make sure, if that’s the case, you think about it long and hard because I can’t promise you the things I know you’re going to crave afterward.”

Our eyes meet. Heat thrums through me, and my heartrate kicks up. There’s something thrilling and empowering in the notion that he wouldn’t say no to taking my virginity if I begged him to.

And yet, there’s something incredibly sad in the notion that he also feels unworthy of it.

If I didn’t plan on dying a virgin, he’d be the only one worthy of it.

I jump down and step toward him, my chest tight, legs wobbly. Both of his hands grip the edge of the countertop, as if he’s forcibly trying to keep them off of me. “You said you weren’t looking for a relationship. Is that what you’re referring to?”

“Yes.”

I wet my lips, trying to understand. “You…want to sleep around? You don’t want to be committed to one person?” If that’s the case, then he’s absolutely right. I could never accept that, which means I could never sleep with him.

“It’s not about being exclusive,” he says. “It’s about expectation.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t know fuck-all about being a good partner.” Cal pops up from the counter and moves around me, pacing the small galley kitchen. “I like my space, I like being alone. I’m overly protective to the point where it’s pretty fucking toxic, and I own that. I’ll break a man’s face if he even looks at my woman. I don’t like talking about my goddamn feelings, I don’t have a big family to fawn over you, or many friends to take you out with, and I don’t want to be tied down to anybody. A relationship is not conducive to my lifestyle, or to the way I see my future playing out.”

Sadness trickles through me. A deep mourning. I think back to a night beneath the stars, camping in my backyard, when Cal told me he wanted to marry me one day. I was only eight years old at the time, and Cal was ten, but I’ve never forgotten it. It felt like a real proposal. It felt like our destiny had been written in those stars.

Heaving in a tapered breath, I stare at his back as he stands a few feet away running a hand through his dark hair. It glows with a tungsten sheen under the muted overhead light. “You wanted a different future when we were kids. You wanted all the things you say you don’t want now.”

“Yeah, well, shit changes, Lucy.” His words are sharp, tone acidic. “I wanted a lot of things back then. A basketball scholarship. A higher allowance. A fucking puppy.”

“You wanted to marry me.”

Cal whips around. “I was just a damn kid. Everything changed the moment Emma walked out that door. Everything.”

His eyes flare. They darken when her name echoes off the plaster walls and our splintered hearts. The kitchen feels smaller, narrower, and the air scarce. Ducking his chin to his chest, he flexes both hands at his sides, reeling in his brush with emotion.

Then he steps forward, meeting my wide, glossy stare, my hip perched against the oven for balance.

“Look, if you want to be friends, I’ll be your friend—as much of a friend as I can be.” Cal continues to stalk toward me, gaze leveled with mine. “If you want me to fuck you,” he rasps, focus dipping to my mouth, then swinging back up, “I’ll fuck you. I’ll worship every inch of you.”

My heartbeat quickens again, skin flushing hot. My pulse is in my throat, his words digging into my chest.

I want him, I do. But—

“But I won’t love you.”

I stagger back, grateful to be propped up by something. I know I’d fall. I’d crumble.

“And that’s what a girl like you really wants, isn’t it?” he presses. “To be loved. Adored. That’s what you deserve.”