Page 128 of A Little Crush
“Do you ever…do you ever think about what our life would be like if I hadn’t…” She lets out a long breath. “If I hadn't slept with Chris?”
“Iris, I gotta go-—”
“You’re not gonna answer me?”
“Can we talk about this later?” I snap. Not that I want to. Ever. But if it’ll get me off this call, I’ll say whatever she wants to hear.
“Sure, sure. Whatever you…whatever you need, baby.”
There it is again.Baby.
I scrub my hand over my face, suddenly exhausted. “I’ll talk to you later.” Ending the call, I drop my cell back onto my desk. “Sorry about that.”
“What’d she say?” Rory asks. Her voice is quiet. Hell, it’snothing but a whisper. And even though I can tell she’s trying to act nonchalant and shit, she’s a terrible actress. Clearly, she overheard the conversation. And clearly, she wants to talk about it. Maybe to see if I’m telling the truth. Maybe to see if I’m actually considering going back. Then again, I’m not sure it matters.
Rubbing my hands along her thighs, I answer, “She told me Chris cheated on her.”
Her lips part, though I don’t know if her surprise is from my response or my candor. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
She nods slowly but doesn’t say anything else. She wants to, though. I can see it. Taste it. Feel it. Her reservations and unease. I guess I don’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, I’d be on edge, too.
Cupping her face, I force her to look at me. “I don’t love Iris anymore.”
“I know, but…”
“But what about Poppy?” I finish for her. “Poppy’s better off with her parents not living together. Trust me.”
“You say that like it’s a fact.”
“It is a fact.”
“Yeah, but?—”
“No buts,” I argue.
“Let me finish.”
My jaw locks, but I keep my mouth shut, and drop my hands, slipping more between her thighs as she stays seated on my desk. Instead of touching me back, she leans back on her hands, adding some space between us and killing me in the process. Even then, she doesn’t speak.
“You said to let you finish,” I gently push.
Avoiding my gaze, she grumbles, “My selfishness is keeping me from saying it.”
With a low laugh, I reach up and grab her face again. “I want you, Rory Buchanan. You and only you.”
“And Poppy?”
“Okay, I want my Poppy, too, but choosing you doesn’t impact my relationship with my daughter.”
Whatever concern I’d been hoping to erase remains present. “Isn’t that a little debatable in this circumstance?”
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe, if we’re talking about technicalities. But I look at it this way. She can have a miserable father one hundred percent of the time, or a happy father and happy mother fifty percent of the time.”
“But Iris isn’t happy,” Rory argues. “Which she just informed you of on the phone.”
“Iris is Iris,” I remind her. “I give her a week before she’s right back to where she was yesterday, convinced I’m a worthless piece of shit who can’t do anything right.”
