I’m in my bedroom, after showering and pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, after breakfast, looking a lot
more like the wholesome kid of days gone by, rather than the hot mess of clubbing from days ago. My
hair is up on top of my head in a messy bun of sorts, and I am texting back a so-called girlfriend ‘Sissy’
in New York. Finally, my absence has been noted, and now that I am clear-headed and have some
distance, I can now see how shallow these people really are.
She didn’t text to see how or where I was, she only wanted to know if I was bringing my gold card to
the next party to fuel the champagne supply. I have only ever been a source of freeloading for these
girls; taking my designer clothes and shoes, which I take great pride in hunting down with every new
season release and crashing in Ambers’ apartment anytime they saw fit. I haven’t heard from Terry, not
that I expected I would, or even care, or any of the guys from my old group of friends and throw my
phone aside in irritation. I flop back on the bed, pulling my fluffy pink unicorn, Princess Snuggles, over
my face and sighing out loud.
How I went months, blind to these people and how little they give a shit about me, is crazy. It’s no
wonder I was falling to pieces and feeling worthless when I was surrounded by self-centered dickheads
who used me and discarded me effortlessly. I was looking for completion and set myself up for serious
loneliness. I squeeze the stuffed toy tightly and quell the urge to scream into its little soft belly.
“You could replace the bear with me. I hug back.” The familiar male voice catches me off guard as I
yank the unicorn away and snap my eyes to the open door with a heart hammering jolt. Arrick stands
leaning against the door jamb a little sheepishly, and I have to stop myself from having a visible
reaction. My heart catapults into my mouth at speed suddenly, as nervousness I have never known
around him, envelopes me. I pull myself to sitting and tighten the hair bobble on top of my head.
Averting my eyes to the toy I’m now picking at awkwardly while trying to appear completely normal.
“Why would I want to do that?” I murmur quietly, torn between still being hurt and mad at him, and not
knowing how to behave anymore. I was so sure he’d gone back to the city by now, to her, and not
standing in my bedroom doorway, looking every bit like a fantasy man in a casual T-shirt, jeans and
sneakers. Devastating my insides in ways I have no way of dealing with now I not what it is. Having
something made crystal clear for you changes everything you do after, and right now, my entire body is
only too aware that what I am feeling is in direct connection to knowing I love him.
Fuck.
“Because I could do with a forgiveness hug after being an asshole yesterday. Saying things I didn’t
mean. Tell me what you need to forgive me, Sophs.” He smiles my way, voice remorseful and eyes a
little soft. I catch his eye and glance away shyly, completely freaking out with how not normal this feels
and how crazily cute he is when he’s being this way. All I am seeing is hazy brown eyes over dimpled
sexiness and my heart is an instant mass of freakin butterflies.
Jesus. H. Christ.
“Maybe I don’t forgive you,” I whisper, resisting the urge to recoil when he walks over and climbs on the
bed, close to me. He stays on his knees a moment, so he towers over me, his hand coming out to
mess with my hair childishly. I slap his hand away and pull my knees in, cuddling Princess Snuggles
into my abdomen in a bid to feel more in control, less likely to you know, lick his abs or throw myself at
his mouth.
God, why have I never noticed just how kissable those perfect pouted lips are?
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Looking like a kid again, Sophs. Are you back to sulking like one, and making me suffer for being a
shithead?” He flops down on the bed beside me, so he’s sat on his butt and more level with my height,
while trying to hook an arm over my shoulder, but I lean away so he misses, and try not to jump off the
bed like a loony whose pants are on fire. I feel like an absolute freak. Hating that three little words can
destroy the peace and calm I always felt with him. “Don’t stay mad at me. I hate it when you’re pissed
at me.” His husky deep voice is even lower today, gentle, and somehow even more devastating to me
as he tilts his face in tantalizingly close. I can smell everything that is good about him and my heart
lurches in pain making me immediately claustrophobic with the five thousand sensor alarms going off in
my body. I literally think I may have another panic attack at this rate.
“I’m not mad at you anymore.” My voice breaks and I slide away fast, out of reach of his embrace,
unable to bear his touch anymore and afraid of him trying. He’s always just effortlessly touched me with
innocent touches. Except now, to me, the innocence is gone, and I know a single touch will cause me
pain.
“What’s wrong then? You’re acting weird as hell if you’re not sulking. Didn’t you sleep?” He watches me
move around the room, primping and preening items that are already neat and tidy, just an excuse to
wander. I don’t want to turn and look at him, casually nestled on my bed like he belongs there, sitting all
wide shouldered and muscular, with strong thighs and way too many male hormones for a pink and
fluffy bedroom.
“Yeah, I’m tired,” I reply flatly. Not sure how else to explain the absolute weird way I know that I am
behaving. It’s like I have lost all ability to even talk to him anymore. My voice clogging up in my throat
with a surge of overwhelming pain at his presence. I try to avoid looking at him and just will him to
leave until I can at least pull myself together.
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