Page 11 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I get it.” She doesn’t look convinced, letting out a small indignant noise through her nose and shaking her head. Our eyes still stay connected, though.

“Ipromiseyou,” I say, “I get it.”

She blinks, and a tear falls from her right eye and mixes with the rain on her cheek. “I don’t want this to change anything.”

“It won’t.” It’s the first lie I’ve ever told her that has flowed so naturally off my tongue.

“Itwill,” she argues, a small smile poking through. “We’re going to be all awkward around each other now.”

“Absolutely we will,” I joke, trying to ignore the pounding of my tired heart.

She lets out a tiny laugh and nudges her shoulder into mine. “I’m terrified of losing you as a friend.”

“Theresa,” I say with all the sincerity I can muster through the heavy disappointment still dragging me downward, “I promise you that won’t happen.” I manage a grin and take a step back to get some breathing space. “You’re gorgeous, but I’ll get over ya.”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Joking around.”

“Thought you didn’t want things to change.”

“You’re making me laugh when I should be feeling like shit over this.” She swipes at the water collecting on her exposed wrist. “I may not beinlove with you, but I do love you, and it sucks to say things that hurt you. Making me laugh is so not what I deserve.”

“Trust me, it’s more for my benefit than yours.” Another lie, and it leaves a sour taste on the back of my tongue. I don’t want to ever get used to lying to her.

She reaches out and pinches my stomach, then keeps hold of the material of my shirt and pulls me two steps forward. Her cheek pushes up against my chest and her arms slide around my waist, holding me tight.

These touches are going to cripple me. I stand there, unresponsive, contemplating whether I’m angry at her for throwing easily misinterpreted signals or happy that we can hold each other as friends—that she loves me enough to not play with my head, and is honest about not being ready to give her heart away. I look down at her shaking against my chest. I feel what she’s saying without the words being spoken. She’s honestly sorry that she can’t give me what I want. It only makes me fall deeper and deeper—but that isn’t her fault or her problem.

My tired heart gives out completely, and though I really feel like pushing her off, my arms drop around her shoulders, taking the jacket with them.

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