Page 41 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
“I don’t know, Jake. You tell me.” Faith stepped closer, deliberately invading his personal space. “Because lately, you act like I’m made of glass. You haven’t so much as held my hand in three weeks.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “I’m trying to be respectful.”
“Respectful?” Faith’s voice rose slightly. “I’m waiting for you to kiss the daylights out of me or rip my clothes off and you’re trying to be respectful.”
His indrawn gasp of breath had her nodding her head. At least she’d gotten his attention. “Or maybe you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t want me anymore.”
The words hung between them like a challenge. Jake’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, Faith thought he might finally be honest with her.
Instead, he stepped back. “We should go. You’ll be late.”
“No.” Faith planted herself firmly in front of the car door. “We’re going to talk about this. I’m a psychologist, Jake, not an idiot. You’ve been treating me differently ever since I told you about Steve, and I want to know why.”
“Faith—”
“Do you think I’m damaged goods now? Is that it?” Her voice was steady, but he could hear the hurt underneath. “Do you look at me and see a victim instead of a woman?”
Jake’s control snapped. “Of course not!”
“Then what?” Faith demanded. “Because this careful, polite distance you’ve been maintaining is driving me insane. If you’ve changed your mind about us, just say so. Don’t hide behind concern for my emotional well-being.”
Jake’s frustration finally boiled over. “You want to know what’s wrong? Fine. You want me to be honest?” He stepped toward her, his eyes dark with suppressed emotion. “I think about touching you every second of every day. I think about kissing you until neither of us can breathe. I think about?—”
He stopped abruptly, close enough now that Faith could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the pulse jumping in his throat. The air between them crackled with electricity, tension so thick it was almost tangible.
For a heartbeat, Faith thought he might close the remaining distance between them. Her lips parted slightly, her body swaying toward his of its own accord.
Then Jake jerked backward as if he’d been burned, running his hands through his hair. “We should go. You’ll be late for your show.”
The moment shattered like glass.
Faith stared at him, seeing the war being fought behind his carefully controlled expression. “Jake?—”
“Get in the car, Faith.” His voice was rough, strained. “Please.”
The drive to the station passed in silence so thick it was suffocating. Faith’s hands gripped the steering wheel while Jake stared rigidly out the passenger window, both of them trying to pretend they couldn’t still feel the pull between them.
By the time they reached the radio station’s parking garage, the unresolved tension had wound so tight that Faith felt ready to snap.
“We can’t keep doing this,” she said quietly as she turned off the engine.
Jake’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look at her. “I know.”
“Then what are we going to do about it?”
Finally, he turned to face her, and Faith saw something that looked almost like desperation in his blue eyes. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I honestly don’t know.”
Faith nodded slowly, her heart breaking a little at his lost expression. “Well, when you figure it out, let me know. Because I can’t keep pretending this isn’t killing me.”
She was out of the car and halfway to the elevator before Jake recovered enough to follow her. By the time they reached the radio station’s twenty-third floor, the space between them felt like a chasm that neither knew how to cross.
* * *
“You’re overdressed for radio,” Jake observed as they stepped off the elevator into WKTP’s twenty-third floor offices. The mix of jeans, sweats, Hawaiian shirts, and spandex among the staff was a sharp contrast to Faith’s polished appearance.
“Special circumstances tonight,” Faith replied, some of her natural warmth returning. “They’re recording the show for promotional materials—podcast advertisements, website content, that sort of thing. So I had to dress like Dr. Hartwell instead of getting to be comfortable.”
The rapid clip-clop of heels announced Lucy’s approach before she appeared, clipboard in hand, firing instructions at an intern while simultaneously reviewing notes.
