Page 82 of It's Always Been You
“What else would it be about?” I practically yell. “I don’t want what you want! I never did!” I never intended to become one of his . . . his—
Friends with benefits.
He flinches. “What do you mean?” His voice is measured and calm, like he’s handling a ticking time bomb.
Ifeellike a ticking time bomb . . .
“Oh, please,” I growl, avoiding his eyes now. “Don’t act coy, Brandon. I know you better than anyone. We both know what you’re really after. I knew from the beginning, but I was stupid enough to fall for the whole, ‘I want you to trust me again’ act.” Scoffing, I throw my hands up. “Butsilly mefor assuming you could keep it in your pants long enough for me to find another job!”
He guffaws loudly. It’s a blunt, incredulous sound. Warily, I peek up at him and flinch at the hard look on his face. “You think I want tosleepwith you?”
For some illogical reason, his reaction hurts my feelings. As if—in my demented mind—discovering hedoesn’twant to sleep with me is just as hurtful as if that wasallhe wanted . . .Ugh! Make it make sense, Genevieve!
I gape at him. “You basically insinuated you’re game for round two this afternoon.”
He’s shaking his head, his jaw tight, his posture rigid. “So you’re allowed to wind me up, but I can’t tease you back? The only reason I said any of that was because you were messing with me, hinting at the fact that you knew I liked you.” He props his hands on his hips, looking like he’s about to scold his toddler. It’s almost comical. “Tell me how that’s fair, Genevieve.”
I scrutinize him. “Doyou?”
“Do Iwhat?” he snaps, lost in the argument.
“Do youlikeme?”
He laughs again, but then he sobers, clearly at his wit’s end with me. “What are we? In junior high?”
“Answer the question.”
“Of course I like you, Evie,” he grits out. “I like you more than I’ve ever liked any other person I’ve ever met.”
And just like that, my anger evaporates like vapor in the wind. “So youdowant to sleep with me.”
He rolls his eyes, exasperated. “That’s not what I want, Evie,” he rumbles. “Not even close.”
I scoff, but his words set my heart ablaze. “Then what do you want?”
Silence rings in the air like the echo after a gunshot.
He gazes at me beneath his thick, dark lashes, his gorgeous eyes shining. My heart races in the silence. “Your trust, baby.” He inches closer, and I swallow, nervous as his term of endearment liquifies my insides. “Your forgiveness. From the very beginning, I thought I was clear about all of that.”
“You were,” I admit quietly, attempting to step around him.“But, frankly, you’re doing a terrible job of it.”
He throws his arm out, ensnaring my waist. My breath hitches. “I’m trying,” he whispers, his anguished voice warm against my cheek. “But I’m only human, Evie, and I make mistakes. I know I’ve put my foot in my mouth more timesthan I can count over the last few weeks, but I’mtrying. I really am. But for some reason, you’re refusing to meet me halfway. Why?”
There’s a hysterical edge to his voice that frightens me. His arm tightens around my waist, and my head bows as I feel my resolve crumble piece by pathetic piece. He’s right. So right, in fact, that I’m trembling—because I can see that he really has changed, that his intentionsarehonorable. That’s more terrifying than the alternative. What happens when I let my guard down and let him into my head and heart again?
I can’t simply be hisfriend.Or his coworker.
I would never, ever get over him.
“What happens when I meet you halfway, Brandon?” I whisper shakily. “I can’t be your friend, if that’s what you want. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”Because I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you . . .“I—”
His eyes soften, and I avert my misty gaze, unable to look at him. It feels like I’ve just cracked my ribs open and exposed my beating heart to him. Gently, he turns me to face him. Patient as ever, he waits for me to meet his gaze.
Slowly, my eyes lift.
“I don’t want to just be friends,” he says gruffly. “I never did. From the very beginning, I—”
My heart leaps into my throat. “You what?”
