Crushed - Pamela Ann Page 0,59

I charged in his room, I found him sitting on his bed with his soles planted on the floor, elbows sitting on each of his thighs, and still bearing the sour, asshole face he had left me with minutes ago, and it took some of the wind out of my sails, dissipating my anger a bit. Much to my dismay, he only stared at me, waiting for me to say something, as if I was the last person he wanted to see.

“Listen…” I started, licking my lips while I pondered the next word to say as I took in his blatant dislike of me. “About what I said earlier about Carter, I’m sorry for that.”

He threw me a blank face. “It’s already forgotten. Anything else? ‘Cause I have somewhere to go.”

Well, that was quick.

“I thought—I thought you were taking me out on a date.” It wasn’t as though I was fishing for another invitation; it was merely out of curiosity because his swift actions were boggling my mind. Though I didn’t want it to bother me, it was hard not to. I cared too much.

“I changed my mind.”

“Where are you going? Are you taking someone else out now because I pissed you off about Carter; is that it?” It was a common theme to people who didn’t take rejection or competition lightly. They went out there again in the blink of an eye to catch someone who would supply some nourishment to their depleted ego. Heck, it was my strategy time and time again after he would cast me aside once he didn’t need me. I had to admit that it was bizarre to see the situation reversed for a change. In a fucked up way, it was kind of refreshing. Again, in the most fucked up of ways.

The mere mention of Carter’s name was a dead giveaway on how he hated me saying his best friend’s name. It was twisted, I knew, but the dark side of me liked seeing him react in a jealous way to Carter, because it was a first coming from him. It was satisfying to serve him the same dish he had served me all these years.

“I’m done talking, Amber,” he said in a dismissive manner, insinuating I leave his room.

Anyone who knew Brody knew him to be a well-liked person. He always had a great smile on hand, and he had a way of making someone feel instantly comfortable in his presence, even if you had just met, so this reaction—the jerk attitude and all that entailed—was a different part to him, one I had never gotten the chance to see, since it was reserved for people he was passionate for. Apparently, I had finally managed to score a spot on his romantic agenda after years of waiting.

This entire situation was as maddening as it was sad. I was sad for him, for me, for the both of us wanting the same thing at different times. Regardless, my love for him had brought me here, and there was no going back.

Although I couldn’t deny seeing him torn because of me made me feel all sorts of emotions, one emotion stood out—the weird thing they called attachment. Yes, whatever emotions he had, I was attached to them. Whatever he was going through, as much as it pained me to admit it, I was feeling it, as well. It was a dreadful position to be in, but that was how it was with him, and it seemed like it would remain that way.

Taking a few steps towards him, I made a quivering smile, quite unsure about everything. “Please don’t be mad. I said I was sorry—”

“I’m not mad.” He barely glanced in my direction. Instead, he perused the floor with rapt attention.

A great liar, he definitely wasn’t.

“You are. You know you are,” I insisted, standing my ground as I slowly approached his side before finally having the will to sit next to him on the bed. “You look at me differently when you are,” I finished saying, my heart thudding madly against my chest.

“I said I’m not, so can you please drop the subject now?” His eyes remained glued to the floor, uncaring about my efforts in trying to reach out to him.

Well, I would on one condition. “Am I forgiven?”

“If you move your things from Carter’s room to mine, I just might.”

Did he just say that without even looking at me? Was he totally serious? Because if he was … well, what the fuck?