Page 57 of Drive Me Crazy
Blake runs his fingers through his hair, messing up the coiffed styling. “I’ve been so focused on getting you to talk to me, I didn’t really think about how to start.”
“I’ve been talking to you.” Not very often, but words have come out of my mouth. “Sort of.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been adjusting to the time change.”
If Blake had a bullshit meter, it would be going off right about now. I’ve gone from his biographer to his hide-and-seek opponent.
“You won’t even look at me.”
“What are you doing here, Blake?” I sigh, giving him the eye contact he wants. “I told you we’re all good.”
“We’re not all good.”
He taps his foot against the floor. I’m not used to seeing him so visibly nervous. It’s refreshing, but not doing much to ease my own nerves. He’s the confident one, always so sure in everything he says and does.
“I don’t blame you for how you feel if that’s what you’re worried about.” He’s not going to compromise on his end, and I’m not going to compromise on mine. “Yeah, things are a little awkward right now, but I’ll get over it.”
“I was wrong when I said I can’t give you more. I know I can and that I want to. I’ve been positively miserable not beingable to talk to you. I kept picking up the phone to call you when something happened over break because you’re the person I want to share things with, whether they’re good or bad.”
Um … what the fuck?He looks at me, wanting and waiting for me to say something.
“You lookedsupermiserable with your tongue stuck down that one chick’s throat. Was that one of the times you wanted to call me? Or was it when that Kylie Jenner lookalike straddled you at the club? Probably hard to get your phone out of your pocket when someone’s on top of you.”
The petty in me will not let that go. He wants to be with me but also wants to fuck socialites and models? I’m not a mathematician, but that doesn’t quite add up. Blake looks so uncomfortable I almost feel bad. Almost.
“I didn’t sleep with any of them.” He leans forward with a sincere look in his eyes. “I swear to you. I was trying to convince myself that casual was what I wanted, but I was wrong. None of them meant anything and I’m an idiot for thinking they could even remotely compare to you.”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m glad you’ve decided what you want?”
I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m hungover and extremely thrown off by this entire conversation.
“What I want is you, Ella. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I want this. That I’m serious about us. Christ, I even talked to my therapist about you.”
There’s no point in hiding my surprise. I already know Blake goes to therapy, but I’m dumbstruck that I came up as a topic of conversation. Our therapists should get together to compare notes.
“Says he’s never heard me talk so passionately about anything besides Formula 1 until you.”
I bury my face in my hands. My mind is going a millionmiles an hour, not sure what to do with what he’s saying. I’ve spent the past month wishing this is what he’d said, but he didn’t. And now that he is? I still like him, but what’s changed? I’m not prepared for this.
“Have dinner with me,” Blake says softly as if it’s that simple. “You can tell me every reason you shouldn’t be with me, and I’ll tell you every reason you should be.”
I barely wanted to open my door for him and now he wants me to go to dinner with him while I’m in my pajamas?
“You’re in a tuxedo,” I point out. “I’m wearing boxers.”
“I’ll change,” he says. The look of hope on his face is unusually bashful. “We don’t even have to leave the hotel. We can just eat in the dining room.”
He’s using my love of food and pajamas against me. Sneaky. My stomach betrays me by growling. Blake hears it—there’s no way he doesn’t—but he makes no comment.
“Okay,” I relent. “But just dinner.”
He knows the way to my heart is through my stomach and I’ve got to give him brownie points for that.
TWENTY-SIX
Blake
