Page 37 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
“Hiding your pain won’t do you any good,” Liza says, stepping away from the couch. “No matter how pretty the girl by your side is.”
I sink lower on the couch as my blush rises.
Wyatt hugs an arm around my shoulders. “Can you blame me for wanting to soak up all this time with you?”
“Honestly, it’s given me such a head rush. This is a trip, Wyatt. I’ve been dreaming about you for so long. It’s almost like whiplash, actually being with you.”
His lips press into a line and worry flashes in his hazel eyes. “Is this not okay?”
I plant a hand on his chest, keeping our closeness. “No, of course it is. It’s just... For me, it’s been a long time.”
His bottom lip twitches and he nods slowly.
“It’s just hard,” I whisper, “pretending like no time has passed.”
“But... What am I supposed to do?”
I shakemy head. “Nothing. It’s not your fault.”
He frowns, rubbing his forehead. “It kinda is.”
I gently caress his jawline. “You can’t help what you don’t remember. I don’t want you to stress about it.”
“But you’re uncomfortable.”
“Not with you,” I rush. “It’s just the situation. This place. What I know about your life now. It’s a lot to balance.”
Wyatt slides back on the couch, his arm pulling away from my shoulders. There’s a tug at my heart and I clasp his wrist as he recoils.
My shoulders hunch forward. “I’m sorry.”
He tilts his head. “You shouldn’t be apologizing.”
“I don’t want you to feel bad about all this. You can’t remember us being apart.”
“But I’m the reason we were. I’m the reason you can’t feel good being so close to me.”
I press a hand over my chest as my chin drops. “I love being close to you.”
“But you’re thinking about all this other stuff. I don’t want a career, or a girl I don’t remember, to wreck what’s happening between us. But it has, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
I exhale shakily. “Should we just take a minute?”
Hurt crosses his expression. “Do you want to leave?”
I frown and it quickly morphs into a pout as the lump pulsates in my throat. “I never want to leave you.”
He squints, circling his thumb between his eyebrows.
I wince in second-hand pain. “Your head’s still hurting?”
“Yeah.” He opens his eyes and points at the kitchenette. “Sometimes they get a washcloth. It helps.”
I dash off the couch and move across to the kitchenette. Near the sink is a neatly stacked pile of stark white washcloths. I run one under cold water, wring it out, and take it back to Wyatt.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, placing it on his forehead.
“Do you need anything else?” I ask, settling back on the couch a space between us. “Should I buzz Liza again?”
