Page 122 of Wild Then Wed
He’s still watching me. Not pushing, not fixing. Just listening.
“I don’t think being with someone would fix it,” I say after a beat. “It’s not that.”
I’m still skating backward slowly, pulling him along. His grip is steady now, not so tense. My fingers feel warm around his.
“I just think…” I pause, exhaling through my nose. “Having someone who sees you. A friend. Maybe that’d make it feel a little less like I’m just orbiting everyone else’s lives.”
He doesn’t blink. “I’m your friend.”
I roll my eyes at that, but it’s half-hearted. “You’re myfake husband.That’s a little different.”
His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Well, we have to start somewhere.”
“I’ve never been good at making friends,” I admit. “Even when I was a kid.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Why do you think that?”
“Because it’s true.”
I let go of one of his hands so we can curve closer to the edge of the rink, near the string lights where fewer people are skating. He follows easily now, more balanced than he was before.
“I tried,” I tell him. “I always made an effort. But it never stuck.”
His eyes stay on me, and I feel it more than I see it—that still, steady attention of his. It makes it harder to dodge my own words.
“I got made fun of a lot,” I say, shrugging like it doesn’t still sting a little. “My freckles. My red hair. I was taller than most of the boys until ninth grade. Skinny as hell. I never really liked the things other girls liked—Barbies, cheerleading, doing each other’s makeup and hair. I wanted to be outside. Wanted to be around horses.”
I glance up, almost expecting him to look away. But he doesn’t.
“And when I did make friends,” I say, “I was always a little too….outspoken. The most popular girl in the fifth grade invited me to a sleepover and I told her I didn’t want to come because she was mean to people at recess. I thought I was just being…clear, you know? But she cried and told everyone I was a bitch.”
I give a dry laugh. “I didn’t get invited to many sleepovers after that.”
I should probably stop talking. But I don’t.
“I thought it would get easier as I got older,” I keep going, even though every part of me feels like I should shut up. “But it didn’t. Not really.”
Sawyer stays quiet, but he’s still looking at me, not even pretending to be focused on skating anymore. And for whatever reason, that makes the words keep coming.
“Sage has always been the more likeable one. People gravitate toward her in a way that they don’t with me, and they should. She’s good at making people feel wanted.” I glance down at our skates for a second, then back up. “I’ve never been good at that.”
I shrug. “And then there’s Ridge. People love being around him. They think it makes them interesting by proximity. So I never really know who’s being genuine with me and who’s just hoping to get closer to him.”
I don’t mean for it to sound bitter. It’s just the truth.
Sawyer raises a brow, like he’s trying to work something out. “So you’ve never had a boyfriend?”
The way he says it—almost disbelieving—makes my stomach twist. My cheeks heat, and I know it has nothing to do with the cold.
“I have,” I say, clearing my throat. “One.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s surprised. He’s a handful of years older than me, and with a face like his, he’s probably had more relationships and sexual encounters than Ican count. Meanwhile, I’m out here blushing over the fact that I’ve only hadone.
I take a breath. “It wasn’t great. He made me feel like I was…ornamental. Like I looked good beside him, but that was kind of the extent of it. I could never really be myself. If I said too much or disagreed with him or made a joke he didn’t like, it was like I was doing something wrong.”
Sawyer’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“He used to say I had sharp edges. That I was too much for most people.” I pause, my voice a little flatter now. “So I started shrinking, a little at a time.”
