Page 48 of Miss Behaved
“You’re such a player.” I throw my head back onto my pillow and stare at the bumpy ceiling. Player or not, at least he’s single again.
The bed sinks, and I realize he must have sat on the mattress. There’s a sudden urge to climb over to him, but I don’t dare look up, knowing one glance might crack my carefully crafted facade.
“Speaking of players, how’s James?” Carson asks, untamed irritation flooding his tone.
“Fine,” I say, and I think I feel his body stiffen. “He’s with Meg, and I hear through the grapevine he has no complaints.”
“You broke up?” Carson asks.
I nod. “Broke up, got sick of him staring at his ex’s ass, same thing, right?”
“Fucking tool.” There’s that genuinely annoyed tone again.
“He was fine for what it was,” I say. I finally dare to look Carson in the eyes, and I realize he’s staring at where the edge of my shorts hits my legs. When his eyes flick back to me, he doesn’t try to hide his perusing. His face watches me, nonchalant.
“You deserve more. A good guy.”
I deserve you, you flipping idiot.
“You’re a good guy,” I dare to say.
Carson’s expression darkens. “No, I’m not.”
I sit up, and the way he leans back on his arms brings me face-to-face with him. There’s the same curiosity in his eyes that I remember from that first day we met and he wanted to know what I was writing in my notepad. Not that I could have told him I was writing about him. It was always about him. Every heartbreak, every attempt at a relationship. I was left circling the sun that was Carson Calloway.
“You don’t get to tell me what kind of guy you are,” I tell him. His mouth twitches like he’s going to argue, but I continue without giving him the chance. “You forget that I know you better than anyone. And you are fine just the way you are.”
I pin him with my stare. If I believe it enough, maybe he will too.
There’s mere inches between our lips holding apart what we’ve always been and what I wish we would be. A fraction of space begging for me to close it. For the first time in my life, I’m ready to feel something more than butterflies. I want the tornado that is Carson to sweep up my insides. I want to wash away in him.
Carson’s eyes narrow, and his lip hitches. I’m sure he’s about to challenge me, because nothing bothers him more than when I tell him that deep down he’s really good. But instead, he leans in, and it’s a dare I can’t resist, so I close the distance between our lips.
They’re soft, but possessive, warming even the coldest parts of my bones. And as his hand finds my waist and he tips us back so he’s laying over me, I realize this is happening. Finally.
I’m ready to give Carson all of me, knowing he can break my heart, knowing there will be no getting it back.
Knowing I’m in love with him. Always have been. Always will be.
20
Carson
Iflettingsomeonegoin the hopes they come back is loving them, then I’m free-falling down a canyon, wondering what the fuck just happened.
Monica in my bed was every fantasy come to life—until she got up and left right after, taking whatever hope was blooming in my chest with her.
Explore, that’s what she called it. And that’s the type of guy I am, right? One women enjoy but don’t stick around to have breakfast with after. They come to me for fun before their fairy-tale ending. So why would I think Monica wants anything different?
After all, she knows me better than anyone. Isn’t this what I get, payback for walking away from her first?
I turn up the heat in the shower so it almost sears my skin, hoping it can wash away whatever this feeling is bubbling up inside me—regret, frustration, hurt. If crawling inside Monica was an attempt to come out unscathed, I now know that’s not possible.
As I finish up the buttons on my shirt, a knock on the door gets my hopes up.
“Carson, honey, you ready?” Agnes says from the other side, and it dashes the thought that maybe Monica wanted something more than whatever we had earlier.
I swing open the door and find Agnes and Nadine looking like a twosome of trouble. They’re dressed in fringed flapper dresses with strings of pearls dangling from their necks.
