Page 106 of The Incredible Ordinary

We stare at each other.

Take two, I guess?

“I thought you might have been interested, too,” I say, just as he says, “I should never have taken advantage like this.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as he says. “What does that mean?”

This would be ridiculous, but I’m honestly getting annoyed again.

I take a deep breath.

“I—” he starts to say.

“No. I talk. You listen.”

He seems like he’s about to argue, but at the look I send him, he pretends to zip his lips and plants his ass on the edge of the bed.

Right.

I know what I want to say, but it’s difficult to figure out where to start and how to make it sound at least somewhat coherent.

“You were fucking with my head,” I say.

“I know,” he says immediately, leaning forward as if he’s about to get up and come to me. “I know. That’s what I’ve been saying. That’s why I’m sorry.”

“That listening thing is going really well.”

He presses his lips together and sits back down.

“You were fucking with my head,” I repeat. “You—you—made it sound like you weren’t interested in me.”

His eyes are wide as he looks at me without blinking.

My breath hitches, and my fingers curl into fists.

“And I’m not saying you have to be, because if you’re not, that’s fucking fine. I can handle it. Iwashandling it. But then you kissed me back. And I know I started it. I kissed you first. Butyoukissedmeback. And then you pushed me away, and just…” I spread my arms. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

He swallows and waits for a bit, eyes inquiring, waiting to see if it’s safe to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

My fingernails dig into the soft part of my palm. I don’t have much cool left.

“I don’t need you to be sorry,” I grit out.

He looks down and swallows hard. “What do you need, then?” he asks in a low voice.

“I need…” I start with way more confidence than I actually have, so when it comes time to demand what I want, I lose most of that bravado. I grit my teeth before I square my shoulders, raise my chin, and force myself to face him head-on. “I need you to tell me if you want me.”

The wait is endless. Time stretches and stretches, along with the anxious coil of wire in my stomach that gets tighter with each passing second.

“I can’t,” he says.

I grit my teeth so hard it hurts.

“You won’t hurt my fucking feelings,” I snap. “Just tell me you’re not interested, and then I can stop wondering.”

He presses his lips together, hesitates, and then he moves. So fast my brain hasn’t caught up before he’s in front of me. And then his mouth covers mine. It devours. It claims. Until I can barely breathe.