Page 184 of Scarlet Wars
Sean squeezed my hand once, hard. “Then don’t waste it. Go tell him.”
When I looked back at him, there was no judgment in his face, only understanding.
I nodded, voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”
FORTY-TWO
EMMA
Go tell him.
Yeah. Easier said than done. How exactly does one tell a guy they want a relationship? It’s not like there’s a manual titledSo You’ve Decided to Emotionally Humiliate Yourself, Vol. 1.
And the idea of simply asking him to be with me? Please. That sounded like something a twelve-year-old would scribble in a diary before crying into a pillow.
I’d healed myself sober almost instantly after Sean left, but now, over an hour later—while still mentally auditioning a dozen horrific versions of the same confession—I was deeply regretting that decision.
So naturally, I did what any rational adult would do: I stopped thinking entirely and acted on pure disaster-energy.
I barged into his room without knocking, since knocking would provide enough time for me to realize this was a terrible idea.
And as usual after a day oflightmortal peril, Caden was draped across the couch by the fireplace like the cover model ofBrooding and Barely Alive Weekly,a book in one hand and firelight turning his arm into an actual thirst trap.
He looked ridiculously at ease for someone who’d almost died a few hours ago.
Which, frankly, only made me want to throw something at him.
His eyes lifted lazily from the page to me.
I froze for a beat, my pulse skittering in my throat, then blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Remember when you said you were obsessed with me?”
His brows raised slightly. “Kind of hard to forget.”
“Why did you tell me that?”
He shut the book with a soft thump. “Right, well, there’s this thing where people have an emotion, and then instead of shoving it down and pretending it isn’t there, they actually admit that it is. And then they talk about it. Might be somewhat of a foreign concept to you, but the kids today call it ‘communicating’.”
I crossed my arms. “Glad to see that bullet didn’t damage your sarcasm receptors.”
He smirked, but didn’t avert his gaze, didn’t even reply, only leaned back against the cushions, looking far too smug.
I shifted my weight. “So, um… What does it mean?”
Caden cocked his brow. “What does what mean?”
Ihatedit when he did that. Forcing me to spell it all the way out when he knew damn well what I was asking.
Scratching behind my ear, I pushed out the words. “What does it mean, being obsessed?”
“What, you want, like, the dictionary definition of it?”
Status nerves: fucking frayed.
My poor heart was thrumming in my chest, and I was more stammering than speaking. “No, no, not a definition. I mean…if you…if you would…have me—be with me—would that…cure you? Would that make it go away?” My face felt hot just saying it.
“Haveyou?”
“Yes! I mean, if we were, like, to…the—” I waved a hand in the air. “Have sex. Would it…cure you?”
