Page 133 of Collide
My gaze darts instinctively toward Broderick. He’s still standing there, seemingly unbothered, scrolling aimlessly through his phone.
No.Not now. Definitely not now.
I step quickly into the kitchen, craving distance, privacy, space to think and breathe.
“Actually, I’m just wrapping up a meeting. I can come to you instead?” I offer quietly.
“That sounds good,” he replies, his voice gentle. “Have you eaten? We can make dinner if you’d like.”
“If gummy bears count as food,” I joke weakly.
He laughs again, softly amused. “Ah, no. Let me take care of you Darling.”
His offer sounds so tender and sincere. He wants to take care of me, while my skin is still scorched from Broderick’s touch.
“Okay,” is all I can manage through the shame.
“See you in an hour?”
“See you then,” I say, ending the call quickly.
Smoothing my shirt down, I straighten my spine and flip my hair back over my shoulder. I try to scramble my composure before walking back into the dining room, forcing my breath to steady.
“Hey, sorry about that.” I wave it off, casually.
“All good.” Broderick’s eyes flick up from his phone, his voice guarded now. “The boyfriend?”
“No, not exactly,” I snap, sharper than intended. Alex and I haven’t exactly defined things. I’m not even sure how it works. Does he formally ask me? Is there some kind of ceremony? Do we wear matching name tags? The whole thought makes me uncomfortable.
One thing Iamsure of, though—whatever happened now between Broderick and me can’t happen again.
“About before,” I start awkwardly.
“Yeah, sorry—that was—” he interrupts, equally awkward.
“Yeah.”
We stumble over our words, sentences half-formed, broken, neither of us able to fully acknowledge what nearly happened. My teeth sink into my lower lip. We almost kissed.
Almost.
Did I want it? I’m not sure. What if Alex hadn’t called?
“It’s cool, El,” Broderick says, shrugging easily, his smile faint but forced. “We’re cool. Sorry about all that.”
“I’ve got to head out,” I announce quickly.
“Hot date?” Broderick asks, voice carefully casual, eyes searching mine for an answer he doesn’t really want.
“Something like that,” I reply softly, forcing a playful shrug.
I try to ignore how his smile falters, how disappointment flickers briefly at its edges before he manages to conceal it.
“We good?” I ask, my voice gentle now, a little uncertain.
“Yeah, we’re good,” he echoes quietly.
But the look in his eyes—the subtle strain beneath the surface—doesn’t quite convince me. I open the door, ushering him out, my stomach twisting as he brushes past me.
