Hopeless(73)

He gives me a sidelong glance, then shifts his eyes back to the road. “Okay.”

I turn my gaze out the window, trying to get the word out of my head. I don’t know why I hate nicknames so much, but I do. And I know I overreacted just now, but he can never call me that again. He also shouldn’t call me by the name of any of his ex-girlfriend’s either. He should just stick to Sky…it’s much safer.

We drive in complete silence and I become increasingly more regretful for reacting like I did. If anything, I should be more upset by the fact that he called me by another girl’s name than by referring to me as Princess. It’s almost like I’m displacing my anger because I’m too afraid to bring up what’s really bothering me. Honestly, I just want a drama-free night with him tonight. There’ll be plenty of time to ask him about Hope another day.

“I’m sorry, Holder.”

He squeezes my hand and pulls it onto his lap, but doesn’t say anything else.

When we pull into his driveway, I get out of the car. We never did stop for food, but I don’t even feel like bringing it up now. He meets me at the passenger door and wraps his arms around me and I hug him back. He walks me until my back is against the car and I press my head to his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. The awkwardness from the drive here still lingers, so I attempt to ease myself against him in a relaxing way to let him know I’m not thinking about it. He’s lightly stroking his fingers up and down my arms, covering me in chills.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Always.”

He sighs, then pulls back and looks at me. “Did I freak you out Monday? In my car? If I did, I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I’m not a *, I swear. I haven’t cried since Les died, and I sure as hell didn’t mean to do it in front of you.”

I lean my head into his chest again and hug him tighter. “You know last night when I woke up after that dream?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the second time I’ve cried since I was five. The only other time I cried was when you told me about what happened to your sister. I cried when I was in the bathroom. It was just one tear, but it counts. I think when we’re together, maybe our emotions become a little overwhelming and it turns us both into pussies.”

He laughs and kisses me on top of the head. “I have a feeling I won’t be living you for much longer.” He gives me another quick kiss, then takes my hand. “Ready for the grand tour?”

I follow him toward his house, but I’m still stuck on the fact that he just told me he’s about to stop living me. If he stops living me, that means he’ll be loving me. He just confessed that he’s falling in love with me without actually saying it. The most shocking thing about his confession is that I really liked it.

We walk inside and the house is nothing like I expected. It doesn’t seem very big from the outside, but there’s a foyer. Normal houses don’t have foyers. There’s an archway to the right that leads to a living room. The entire walls are covered in nothing but books, and I feel like I’ve just died and gone to heaven. “Wow,” I say, eyeing the bookshelves in the living room. Books are stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling on every single wall.

“Yeah,” he says. “Mom was pretty pissed when they invented the e-reader.”

I laugh. “I think I already like your mom. When do I get to meet her?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t introduce girls to my mother.” His voice is as detached as his words, and as soon as he says it, his expression drops and he knows he’s just hurt my feelings. He walks swiftly to me and takes my face in his hands. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I’m not saying you’re anything like the other girls I’ve dated. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

I hear what he’s saying, but we’ve been dating as long as we have and he still isn’t convinced it’s real enough for me to meet his mother? I wonder if we’ll ever be real enough to him for me to meet his mother.

“Did Hope get to meet her?” I know I shouldn’t have said it, but I couldn’t keep it in any longer. Especially now, hearing him say “other girls.” I’m not delusional; I know he dated other people before he met me. I just don’t like hearing him say it. Much less calling me by their names.

“What?” he asks, dropping his hands. He’s backing away from me. “Why did you say that?” The color is draining from his face and I immediately regret saying it.