Page 115 of The Love Playbook

“Why what?” he asks as he polishes off the last of his sandwich in one bite, sounding genuinely clueless.

“Why are you here? You could be anywhere, doing anything better than this, yet you’re here, helping me. Why? Whyme?” I shake my head, emotion stinging the backs of my eyes. “You’re . . . God, I can’t believe I’m going to admit this out loud,” I say, pressing a hand to my throat, afraid I might get sick, “butyou’re so fucking perfect. You’re so damn caring and sweet andgood. So, what are you doing with someone like me?”

He frowns like I’m speaking a foreign language, his blue eyes searching mine. “Whynotyou, Lettie?”

I shake my head. He doesn’t understand what I’m asking. He doesn’t get why I’m so skeptical, why I might be afraid to hinge my hopes on something that seems too good to be true.

“Now wait a minute. I’m serious,” he says when I start to pull away. He reaches out, grabbing my arm and tugging me closer. “Whynotyou? What about you is so unlovable that you can’t fathom why I would want to be here with you right now?”

“It’s . . .” I bite my lip, my mind going a mile a minute while his glacial gaze narrows. “I just . . . it’s just . . .”Everything.

And there you have it.

The real reason I’m scared, the real reason I want to run from anything real.

During our date at the yoga studio, I told Chris I was afraid of being dependent on someone, of turning into my mother and pushing him away. And although I am scared of those things, deep down, the real problem is that I’ve gone my whole life trying so damn hard to be enough for my mother, to be the perfect daughter, to make her happy, and I never could. Nothing I ever did was good enough.At the end of the day, her love for me wasn’t strong enough, and my love for her wasn’t, either.

Iwasn’t enough.

Not for her or my father.

Hell, I’m still not.

I snap my mouth closed and break free of his hold on me, spinning around, unable to look him in the eyes.

I’m not this person, the one who gets emotional and can’t handle their feelings. The one who falls apart or needs reassurance from others. Instead, I pride myself on my strength, my resilience. Anything else makes me feel weak, and feelingweak and out of control, reminds me a little too much of the woman sleeping soundly upstairs.

Chris reaches out, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me into him until my back is pressed against the strong plane of his chest. Closing my eyes, I inhale his scent as it wraps around me, dulling my senses while I fight to calm my racing heart.

“Lettie, look at me.” The deep rumble of his voice sends goosebumps down my back.

I blink and swallow, afraid to turn to him for fear of what he might see.

“Lettie.” He draws my name out like a prayer, so soft and reverent, it makes my heart ache. “Look at me.”

I shift, resigned to facing him. Turning in his arms, I tip my head back until the warmth of his blue eyes meets mine with so much tenderness, I’m inclined to believe him when he says, “From where I’m standing, you’re pretty fucking amazing. The kind of amazing I’m falling in love with.”

My heart leaps to my throat, hands gripping the front of his shirt as if I can hold him here with me forever?two souls tethered together, for better or for worse?and I know for as long as I live, I’ll never forget the way he’s looking at me. I’ll never forget his words that echo in the back of my mind.From where I’m standing, you’re pretty fucking amazing. The kind of amazing I’m falling in love with.

I stretch on my toes, gripping his face between my hands, and allow the feel of him beneath my palms to anchor me in the moment. My gaze slides over the rugged lines of his face, memorizing the lush slope of his lips, every curve and line and freckle until something shifts inside of me.

The black centers of his eyes grow, engulfing the blue as he peers down at me, his gaze dipping to my mouth. And then, like a tsunami engulfing me, his lips brush against mine, and I’mlost, sinking in the abyss of him like the deep dark waters of the sea.

My mouth slants against his, demanding more and eliciting a soft groan from his chest, which I follow with one of my own. Gentle fingers coax the hem of my shirt up my back while his fingers dance against my skin, hot and scorching.

I tug at his shirt, pushing it up over his smooth taut skin, wanting to feel it against my own, needing to taste it with my tongue.

As if reading my thoughts, our kiss turns from gentle to demanding and needy, each of us giving, each of us taking everything the other has to offer.

His hands take on a life of their own as they traverse every square inch of my skin, blazing a trail in his wake. Frustrated, I pull back, peeling my shirt off and tossing it on the floor while his gaze hungrily tracks the movements.

My chest rises and falls with my breath, watching the way he drinks me in like an answer to a prayer, and suddenly, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him.

Breathing heavily, I reach for the hem of his shirt, pleased when he assists me by raising his arms and shrugging out of it until all that rippling tan skin is on display.

I think I might die if I can’t touch him. My skin will burst into flames in the absence of the rough slide of his palms. I’ll drown in the muddy waters of despair if I can’t have him?all of him. I wonder if this is what love is like, if it’s supposed to be this all-consuming. I wonder why in the hell I never thought I needed it until now.

His eyes are unfocused when he looks at me, the haze of lust plain in his gaze before he dips his mouth for a kiss so intimate and vulnerable and fierce, it sends a shiver down my spine. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth before brushing against my own, and I’m lost in him. Everything I thought to be true aboutmyself vanishes. All my fears and misconceptions mean nothing with the feel of his palm gliding over the thin lace of my bra.

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