She doesn’t think . . . ? Was I hearing her correctly? How could she possibly think that?
The adrenaline returned, full force. “Then you’re wrong, because you are special to me. And what happened last night was special, and dammit Lisa—would you listen?”
She’d turned and marched away. I reached for her arm, which she shook off. I let go immediately and stepped back. I shouldn’t have touched her. Shit, I knew that. But I couldn’t just let her believe Gabby’s lies.
Knowing I’d fucked up, I pushed my fingers through my hair and tried to calm down. “Here is the truth: I have all sorts of fans, both male and female. They like my music, they come to my shows, maybe they like me. I don’t know, I haven’t asked them. I don’t hang out with my fans and I don’t lead people on, I don’t flirt. The only thing Gabby told you that’s true is this: I do not date. If you don’t believe me, ask Leo.”
Her eyes remained steadfastly on the floor and she mumbled, “You don’t date because you’re a player.”
“No,” I ground out. “I don’t date because I don’t believe in wasting time treading water. When I know, I know.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means, I’m in love with you.”
Finally, finally her eyes came back to me. They widened, her jaw slackened, and she stood silent like a statue. I couldn’t believe this news stunned her as much as it seemed to. Maybe I could allow for some surprise, but she looked completely shell-shocked.
Hesitating only a second—partly because I wondered if it would be taking advantage, but also because she was acting so strangely—I closed the distance between us. Everything was wrong, but this might be my only chance to make things right. I slid my hands around her back. I held her. I kissed her.
She flinched and didn’t respond at all, at first. But then she responded by twisting her face from mine.
“No, no, no!” She pushed me.
I let her go and grabbed fistfuls of my hair, turning away and pacing the length of the kitchen. Fire in my chest. My thoughts in disorder. What the fuck was happening?
I glanced at her. She’d covered her face and was shaking her head. And then she sniffled, the unmistakable sound of a sob rending from her chest that tore at mine.
Please don’t cry. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Goddammit! You don’t love me! I hate—” She cut herself off, shaking her head harder.
I watched her, helpless and so fucking confused, my mind all over the place, unable to see straight. What is happening?
“Lisa—”
“Just fucking listen,” she shouted, surprising me, her hands dropping and revealing a face that looked like a stranger’s. “I’m not who you think I am, okay?”
Despite hearing these words from her before, this time I believed her. I didn’t argue, just watched her and waited for . . . I had no idea. A sign? A glimmer of my Lisa? The woman I couldn’t get enough of? The woman I’d written twenty poems about in six days?