Page 93 of Bridesmaid By Chance
Feeling the weight of the words, I turn onto my back so I can look him in the eyes. His hand remains on my stomach. “This is not what?—”
“You’re wearing my shirt.”
I glance down at my attire as if he’s surprising me with such information. “Yes, I’m aware. I’m also aware that it was a mistake to put it on.”
“Why?” he asks, his thumb still rubbing my stomach.
“I wish I weren’t wearing your T-shirt because we’re not connected in a way that would result in me wearing your clothes. And for a second, for aminorsecond, I thought that maybe you had a change of heart, that you were possibly going to be different. But then I was reminded of your behavior. Now I’m thoroughly regretting my decisions. Actually, I think I might go change right now.” I start to move, but his hand clamps around my side, preventing me from going anywhere.
“Please don’t change.”
The heaviness in his voice nearly breaks me, because this is the man who brought me to putting his shirt on in the first place. Not the man with the phone, but the man who seems to wear his heart on his sleeve on occasion. “Why not?”
“Because,” he carefully says, “I like you in my shirt.”
“That’s obvious, given how possessive you’ve been with me. But can you explain to me why it matters?”
“Can we not do this right now?” he asks. “Can we just let it be and sleep?”
“Always skipping out on the real talks,” I say, feeling sad he won’t go there.
“Sloane…”
“No it’s fine.” I wet my lips. “Just so I know that we’re on the same page: You want to sleep like this, with your arm around me?”
He studies me for a few seconds, his eyes searching, before he finally says, “Yes.”
“And I’m supposed to just be okay with it?”
“No,” he answers, his gaze steady on mine. “It’s your choice.”
“Well, my choice is we don’t do this; we shouldn’t do this,” I say and then pluck his hand off my stomach. “My choice is to draw the line because I can’t keep riding on this roller coaster.” I slide to the side a few inches, waiting for his response.
The unhappy expression on his face tells me that he doesn’t approve, but to his credit, he doesn’t press me. Instead he lies down on his pillow, facing me.
“If that is what you want, Sloane.”
No, that is not what I want.
“What I really want is for things to be different between us, for you to always show kindness, to not treat me like some kid, to have confidence in the fact that I know what I’m doing, but I know I won’t get that with you. So yes, this is what I want. This separation. You don’t know what you want, you’re muddying the waters, and I think it’s best that we keep our distance.”
He just nods his head.
“Because you don’t want sex. You don’t want to grow a friendship or a relationship of any sort. You want distance from me. You’ve made that very clear, so I’m just running with the rules you set from the very beginning.”
“I know.”
And I hate that response.
I sort of wished he would say something along the lines ofWhat if I want to change the rules? What if I don’t want distance from you?But that’s not Hudson. He’s stubborn, he’s going to stick to what he said, and I think he would die trying before he ever changed his mind on the true relationship we’re supposed to have as a married couple.
“Okay…good night.”
He’s quiet, so I take that as he’s done with this conversation. Disappointed, I turn away from him and attempt to get comfortable, but I can feel his eyeson me. Even though the room is dark, the curtains shut besides a sliver that’s letting in the light of the moon, I can still feel those eyes on me.
“Sloane?” he says, cutting through the silence.
“What?” I say, exhausted.
