The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,433

been blinded by it.

“Remi... I thought you knew. I told you when we first got back together. I’m sorry.”

His expression clears and he attempts a smile while he strokes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “No. If anyone should apologize it’s me. You told me and I just…forgot. I’m okay, I promise.”

I lift his hand and press a kiss to the center of his palm and then hold it against my cheek, and even though I’m trying to comfort him, his touch soothes and tethers my skittering nerves. “Are you sure?”

He nods. His smile is sincere and tender, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His hand slips out of my grasp and I’m immediately bereft of it, but guilt and confusion stop me from reaching for him again.

“I’m new to this whole committed relationship thing, but I know better than to assume.” He rests one lean hip against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “So, tell me the surprise I’ve probably ruined.”

His uncharacteristically artless gear shift tells me just how vulnerable he’s feeling. This isn’t a passing whimsy for him. But, sensing that we both need time to process this, I change lanes with him.

“I got an interview.” Even with our unfinished business diluting it, my unbridled excitement about what I’m about to share brings a huge smile to my face.

He grins and genuine happiness lights his eyes. “You heard back from Channel 2?”

I shake my head. “Even better,” I say with a cryptic waggle of my brows, my smile growing so wide my cheeks hurt.

He chuckles and raises an expectant, impatient brow. “Are you going to make me guess?”

“It’s with CNN.” My words come out in a shriek of excitement.

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and his mouth falls open.

“I know!” I squeal my clap my hands together.

His smile is as bright as mine and sweeps me into his strong arms, crushing me to his chest and spinning us in a circle. And elated giggle bubbles from my throat and I’m dizzy with happiness by the time he sets me on the counter.

Grinning, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press my nose to his collar. He smells like mint and vanilla and his flex of his muscles under my roaming hands reminds me where this conversation had been heading before that weird detour. Eager to get us back there, I press a kiss to his neck. “Mmmm, I’m so glad you came home.”

He steps into the space my parted thighs make for him and grins down at me. “Tell me everything. This is amazing. I didn’t even know they had an affiliate here.”

My dogged happiness keeps the smile on my face even as my heart stutters. “They don’t. It’s the show Selma Limón used to host. She’s moving into one of their primetime anchor spots and they’re looking for a replacement. They called my agent today and offered me an audition.”

He blinks like I splashed water in his eyes, but he’s still smiling when he asks, “You mean…the show that films in Atlanta?”

My gaze dart between the smile on his face and the increasingly stark expression in his eyes, trying to decide which one of them to believe. But my heart aches because I know the truth. He’s not only surprised, he’s hurt. Again.

Unable to speak through the knot of consternation in my throat, I nod weakly. He makes a sound that’s half groan, half whimper and his head drops so that his chin nearly touches his chest. He rests his hands on his hips and doesn’t say a word.

I stare at the top of his dark head, my distress growing as I put myself in his shoes. He came home thinking I was going to tell him I was pregnant. Instead, he found out that not only am I not having his baby, I’m taking active measures to prevent it. And then, I tell him that I’m interviewing for a position that’s halfway across the country from the place we decided would be our home.

Oh God.

What have I done? I slide off the counter and, in a desperate attempt to undo the hurt I’ve caused, I lay my sacrificial lamb before him without thinking twice. “I don’t have to take it, Remi. The interview, I mean. It’s a long shot anyway.”

His head shoots up, his dark brows drawn together over eyes that are narrowed in fierce rebuke. “No fucking way.” He closes the space between us again and cups