Page 33 of Not Made to Last

Silence passes a beat, and I contain my laughter to a silent, simmering giggle.

Pookie bear.

His sister asks, “How are you?”

“I’m good, Iz. How are you?” There’s a gentleness in the way he speaks to her, even through a phone, and I wonder what it would be like to have Rhys and Dom in the same room, away from the outside world, because maybe… just maybe, they’re more alike than they wish to admit.

“Also good,” Izzy replies. “Hey… I forgot to ask you yesterday! How’s that girl who tilts your world off its axis? The one who made you want to stay?”

Made him want to stay?What does that even mean?

Rhys clears his throat, and it seems like forever before he replies, “Ah, I’m actually with her right now, so thanks for that.”

Aaand, I’m no longer laughing.

Not even a little.

“No problem,” Izzy chirps, utterly clueless to the sudden hysteria she’s created inside me. “I’ll let you go then, but you owe me an entry. A long one.”

“You got it,” Rhys replies. “Later.” He hangs up, and with zero explanation of what the hell just happened, lifts his gaze to mine, then speaks into his phone. “I know I owe you a long one, and I promise you’ll get it, but this one’s going to have to be short. It’s just… I’m standing in front of the girl of my literal dreams right now, and I’m about to shoot my shot, but the longer I stand here, the more confidence I lose, because she’s lookin’ a little… terrified, and I should probably figure out why, so… I love you and I’ll speak to you later.” He stops the recording and pockets his phone, never once taking his eyes off mine. Andwhat is happening right now?“Is my being here making you uncomfortable?” There’s no play in his words. No bite.

“Notuncomfortable,” I answer truthfully.

“Nervous?” he asks. “Scared?”

“Nervous, I guess.”

He tilts his head just an inch, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It’s a lot for me—you being here and being who you are… and then there’s Dominic to think about, and Max, and you seem to continue to find ways to get to me… and yeah, it’s a little unnerving because…” I trail off, unsure how to continue.

“Because why?” he asks, stepping forward.

Dropping my arms, I release a breath, let my shoulders fall with it. “Because I don’t know what you want from me, Rhys.”

“What do you think I want from you?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I know that every night for the past week, you’ve ordered a bottle of water from multiple places. You do this ten times a night, and then it stops. So that means you either have a horrible case of OCD that’s forcing you to?—”

“I don’t have OCD,” he cuts in.

I didn’t think so. “And I don’t want to judge you based on your house or car or whatever, but I assume you have money—maybe not mountains of it—but enough to cure boredom, so that’s not it.”

“Correct.”

“And, I know you have friends—at least based on the carload of people you brought here to egg my house last year?—”

He grimaces. “You know about that?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course, I do.” I know way more about him than he assumes, but that’s not the point. “My point is that you’re not going to insane efforts every night to hang out with me and Max because of some psychological disorder,or boredom or… loneliness, and if it’s about some… physical need?—”

“It’s not about that,” he interrupts.

I stare directly into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, but they give nothing away. “So, I guess my question remains… What do you want from me, Rhys?”

17

Rhys

---