Page 27 of Wrecked
Maybe he thinks I'm crazy for even thinking that he'd do that?
“What if I was?”
My hands freeze mid-air when I process what he just said. Surely I must have heard him wrong. I lean forward at an angle to better see his face and the expression on it. The question has my heart bouncing around wildly in my chest, and a warm sensation spreads throughout my body like a dozen fireflies lit up my insides. For a second, I want to text Graham and gloat about it. Telling him that it appears I was right.
“Were you?”
His eyes meet mine, flicking back and forth between the two, his face remaining as impassive as ever. “Doesn't matter anyway. I realized it was a bad idea.”
And just like that, as quickly as that warmth appeared and spread, it disappeared just as fast at his words, leaving a coolness in its place.
“Oh?” I move back to my original position and continue with the stitches, not wanting him to see the confusion that I'm sure is written all over my face.
Does he mean it was a bad idea to hit on someone at a liquor store in the early hours of the morning? I guess I can see that.
“I'm not right for you.”
My brows furrow at his unexpected answer. “Not right for me?”
“No.”
“That sounds an awful lot like you're making assumptions again.”
“It's not an assumption this time, Jaz. Just a fact. I'm not good for you.” He removes his hand from my foot like he just realized he was touching me.
Although I wasn't exactly expecting anything to happen between us, his making the declaration that he's not right for me has unwanted feelings of disappointment mixed with a touch of rejection flickering through my mind.
What right does he have to make the decision about whoisand whoisn'tgood for me? I've dated a few men that were very different from one another, and even right now, I can't say that I have a particular 'type'.
Maybe it's that he doesn't thinkI'mright for him?
I work quietly for a minute, with thoughts swirling through my mind. Then finally, when I'm unable to resist, I open my mouth and ask, “What makes you so bad?”
He lets out a quiet sigh as if he was hoping I wouldn't inquire further. “We're just very different, with different lives.”
Annoyance at what he said swims through me. “Well, there seems to be an unfair advantage going on here. I've told you plenty of things about my life, and yet you've told me nothing about yours. I don't know what you do for work or what you do for fun. I have nothing to base an opinion like that off of.”
He's been quite tight-lipped about everything. Not that I have any right to know, I guess.
My hands draw back as he turns his head toward me. His eyes bounce over my face, looking as if he's deciding what to tell me or evenifhe's going to tell me anything. His gaze is intense, but that's not really anything new. He's always kind of had that look.
Finally, he faces forward again, but I don't miss the look of resolution on his face before he does so. He's decided to remain closed.
“All you need to know is that I'm no good for you.”
My shoulders deflate as I huff out a breath, and I shift my sight to my lap for a moment, trying to ignore the sting of his words.
Am I mad that he's not willing to share anything about himself with me? No. I can't be. He owes me nothing. But am I disappointed? Yes.
Iwantto get to know him, and I had foolishly thought for a second there was a possibility of it. I mean, it wasmehe reached out to the other night, not someone else.
Silence descends upon us as I continue working on the last few stitches. There's a slight tension in the air now, but I'm not sure whether it's coming from him or me. Humor has always been a good way for me to diffuse a bad or tense situation. I've sometimes done that with my patients to lighten their somber moods. So, instead of letting the awkwardness grow and become uncomfortable, I decide to try and use some to lighten the mood in here.
“Well, you're assuming I would have even wanted you in the first place. Maybe I find you unattractive.”
I see the side of his face lift, transforming into another one of those half-smirks that I find sexy. He's got to know that he's good-looking and likely doesn't have to work hard for women. An image of the pink, lacy underwear from his couch flashes in my mind, and it sends a weird feeling to my stomach. I swiftly shove the thought away.
“I guess you're right,” he replies, with a hint of amusement in his voice, the air around us lightening up once again.
