Page 91 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“Yes.”
“Then I really wouldn’t worry about it,” she said confidently, picking up her martini glass. “Give him time.”
I exhaled and sat up a little taller. “You’re right. I’m being silly, looking for trouble where there isn’t any. Things are great with us.”
* * *
Except the very next night was Valentine’s Day, and he didn’t stay.
“Where are you going?” I asked when he got out of bed and started putting his clothes on. We’d gone out for dinner and had come back to my house.
“Some furniture is being delivered to my apartment tomorrow morning, and the time window they gave me starts early.” He didn’t even look at me.
“You bought new furniture?”
“Just a new couch. The old one was pretty bad.”
I nodded, pulling the covers up to my chest. It was a small, stupid thing, maybe, but I was sort of hurt he hadn’t mentioned the purchase. “Oh.”
He sat on the bed to tie the laces of his boots but said nothing.
“I wish you didn’t have to go.” I rubbed a hand up and down his back. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“Sorry,” he said shortly.
I took my hand back, biting my lip. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” He stood, turning to kiss me quickly. “Night.”
He was gone before I could even tell him I loved him.
But maybe that was the idea.
Thirty-Four
Theo
* * *
I was such an asshole.
I’d done some shitty things in my life, but I’d never felt worse than when I left Claire alone in bed on Valentine’s Day, confused and hurt, naked beneath the covers because I’d just fucked her.
Yeah, you did.
Grimacing, I shut the door behind me and hurried through the dark to my car. The snow had melted, but the wind was still biting cold. I thought of her, warm and soft under the blankets, and wanted to put my fist through my car window.
But I had to leave. I had to get away.
Inside my car, I growled a string of curse words at myself, but none of them made me feel better. I peeled out of her driveway and sped down the street, tires squealing.
“Fuck!” I yelled. I was so mad at myself. And I was mad at Claire too. As irrational as it was, I’d started to get angry with her for telling me she loved me. Maybe even for loving me in the first place.
For making me love her.
Because I did. I loved her so much I couldn’t see straight. I needed her. And I was powerless because of it.
Fuck it all, she didn’t understand what that did to me! How terrified I was that any minute now, she’d come to her senses and realize what I’d told her was true—I was no good for her. I’d never be the man she deserved. When had I ever been anything but a disappointment to anyone?
