Page 66 of A Little Crush
I pinch the bridge of my nose again in hopes of easing the pounding behind my eyes, but it doesn’t do shit.
“I’m gonna brush my teeth,” I mutter before striding into my side of the suite without a backward glance. Grabbing my toiletries from my bag, I squeeze some toothpaste onto the brush and start brushing while trying not to lose my shit. I can’t believe I screwed up like this. I’ve done stupid shit before. A lot. But nothing compares to this. I’m her employer for shit’s sake. And her family friend. And her dad is my boss. And she just got out of a relationship. And she’s kind of dating one of my players. Or maybe not, since she confirmed they never kissed. Or did I imagine that part? Fuck, I dunno. Not that it matters. What the hell was I thinking? I lean over the sink, spit the minty foam into the swirling water, and rinse my mouth one more time in hopes of eradicating last night’s alcohol still lingering on my tongue.
Can’t believe I kissed her with this mouth. I probablytasted like ass to her. How could I be so stupid? Scrubbing my hand over my face, I force myself to turn off the bathroom light, well aware I can’t hide in here forever, not when my baby girl’s in the other room.
They haven’t moved from the couch. When Poppy notices my presence, her arms bob in the air as she reaches for me, so I close the distance and pick her up, kissing her forehead. I can’t believe I slept so late. That I didn’t hear her when she woke up. Add it to the long list of mistakes I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours. How could I mess up so badly? And how do I make it right?
Shoving aside my self-loathing, I murmur, “Thanks for waking up with her.”
“No problem,” Rory answers. “I was awake anyway and figured you could use the rest.”
A huff of amusement escapes me, and I kiss Poppy’s nose. “Guess you could say that.”
“I ordered room service a little while ago,” she adds, pointing to the small kitchenette. “It’s over there.”
“Thanks.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Listen.” Shifting Poppy to my other side, I take a deep breath, refusing to sweep last night under the rug no matter how much I want to. “I want to apologize.”
An adorable furrow forms between Rory’s brows as she peeks up at me from the couch. “Apologize?”
“I fucked—messed up,” I say, correcting my shitty language in front of Poppy, despite knowing it doesn’t quite matter. Not yet, anyway.
Rory’s lips press together, but she doesn’t reply. It only feeds my guilt.
“I shouldn’t have climbed into your bed, let alone kissed you. That was messed up. I don’t know what I was thinking.Actually, I wasn’t thinking,” I clarify. “I was drunk and pissed over the loss and…I crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry,” she repeats, though it isn’t a question. No, she’s processing.
“I don’t want to lose you as a nanny, not yet?—”
“Wait.” She lifts her hand to stop me. “Are you sorry you kissed me because you’re afraid I’m going to quit before the month is over or are you sorry you kissed me at all?”
I frown, unsure how to respond. Why do I feel like I’m walking on eggshells? Why do I feel like one wrong move will make or break this conversation and all the progress we’ve made since the wedding?
“Uh,” I lay Poppy on her elephant blanket and hand her a small stuffed animal from beside Hades. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Got it.” Rory’s nod is slow and jilted. “I’m going to…shower.” She pushes to her feet, refusing to look me in the eye.
It only makes me feel guiltier. Clearly, I fucked up. Again. Though I can’t figure out how. I apologized. I didn’t sweep it under the rug. I owned up to my mistake. I didn’t justify it or pretend it never happened. So, why is there a shift in the air? She seemed fine before I brushed my teeth. She seemed fine when I grabbed Poppy from her. What did I do?
As she moves past me, I grab her arm, preventing her retreat. “Look, I really am sorry?—”
“So you already said.”
“Yeah, but clearly not enough,” I argue. “You’re mad at me.”
Tearing her attention from where I'm touching her, she glares up at me. “Are you seriously this dense?”
I pull back, surprised by the animosity in her voice. “What?”
“I’m not mad at you for kissing me. I’m mad at you for apologizing for it.”
Letting her go, I rest my hand on top of my head in hopes of stopping myself from reaching out for her again. “What?”
She scoffs and starts to move past me again. “Forget it.”
