Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,79
something like that. That you’d give up so easily. No one’s worth fighting for, are they? Not even yourself.”
“That’s not true…”
“It’s true. Admit it. I can admit my faults. Yes, I’m an asshole who has commitment issues. Yes, I have a screwed-up family and didn’t have good examples of loving relationships when I was a kid. For most of my life, I didn’t think I was worth anything, if you want me to be real with you right now.”
He pauses, and I can’t tear my gaze away from him. He’s breathing heavily, and he looks…angry. But he also looks sad, and that’s the part that hurts me the most.
“But I want to change for you, Stel. I want to be here for you. I want to be with you, always. I want to go with you to your parents’ house and tell them about us. I want to ask for your father’s permission to be with you, and if he tells me I don’t deserve you, then I’ll prove to him—and you—that I do.”
I can’t imagine him doing that, or how my father might react. My heart feels like it’s in my throat and I part my lips, but nothing comes out.
“Do you want that?” he asks, his voice straining. “Do you want me?”
“I—” My throat is so dry, I have to swallow twice before I can get the words out. “I don’t know.”
He throws his hands up in the air, hopelessness written all over him. “How did I know you’d say something like that? It’s as if you don’t believe you’re worthy of a relationship, Stella. I know when shit gets tough, you bail. That’s just your way. But maybe you could change—for me. I’m willing to change for you. I want to change for you. I want this. I want us.”
Panic rises within me and I tamp it down. I’m handling this all wrong. He’s not reacting the way I thought he might. I figured he’d be angry, cursing me out. I didn’t plan on him being so…real.
So raw.
“I warned you from the start,” I tell him, my voice trembling. “I don’t do serious relationships.”
He shoots me an incredulous look, clearly annoyed. “Give me a fucking break. I said the same damn thing, yet here I am standing in front of you with my heart in my hands trying to give it to you. And you’re stomping all over it.”
His words make me uncomfortable. And defensive. “How was I supposed to know you’d catch feelings?” Oh great, now I sound like an asshole teenager.
I need to quit while I’m ahead.
“I don’t know, I thought we wanted the same thing. I guess it’s on me for not telling you how I felt. I assumed you were feeling the same way.” He rests his hands on his hips, still standing in front of me with just the T-shirt and boxer briefs on, but somehow he appears completely in command. In control.
He knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it, even though I just rejected him.
I’m an idiot. A complete idiot.
“I guess you should go,” he says and I nod, turning away from him.
My feet feel like they’re made of steel. I don’t want to leave the room. I don’t want to leave him.
“Close the door behind you,” he murmurs as I walk away, and without another word I exit his room, doing exactly what he says. Closing the door behind me.
On him.
On us.
Twenty-Seven
It’s Sunday morning, which means it’s Sunday brunch time with my friends. I wasn’t going to go at first. I’ve been miserable since my conversation with Carter Tuesday night, moving through my days as if in a fog. Or more like a zombie. I get from Point A to Point B and I’m not even sure how. I go to work, but I move like a robot. Uncaring. Unfeeling.
That’s me. Stella the robot.
But once I confessed to Sarah that Carter and I were done, she told me I needed to be with friends during this tough time. When I tried to beg out of meeting up with them, telling her that I was too tired because of work, she became adamant, demanding that I show up.
So here I am, on a beautiful Sunday spring morning at ten o’clock, entering the restaurant that we always have brunch at, a quaint little spot right on Ocean Avenue. Down the street from Sweet Dreams and only a little over a block away from the beach.