Page 89 of It's Always Been You
He nipped that in the bud right away.
“You’re finally up,” he said, discarding his coffee mug in the sink. There was no hint of teasing or affection in his voice, and at once, the reality of the situation settled over me like ash. When he smiled at me, it didn’t reach his eyes.
Instantly, I felt small. Used.
Propping his hip against the counter, he crossed his arms, gazing at me wordlessly. Coldly. Finally, after a few tense, silent moments, he assured me that last night was “fun,” but that it couldn’t happen again—that it was a “one-time thing,” and we couldn’t see each other anymore.
His tone said something else, though. It said he didn’twantto see me anymore.
My heart was on fire, raging like a furnace, although my skin felt cold. Clammy.
Fun. He was my first, my only, and I wasfun.
To save face, I insisted that I already knew all of that—that I wasn’t a complete and total idiot. He only sighed. To distract myself from the throbbing ache in my chest, I moved to the coffee maker and poured myself a cup, not bothering to look for milk or sugar. I chugged the drink black. It was bitter and burned going down.
When I found the courage to look at him again, his brow was arched, and his expression was so unfeeling that I wanted to scream. There was zero affection in hiseyes. No desire. No real interest of any kind. Instead, he was observing me with cold, clinical concern, like he could sense I might fall apart at any second.
He was right.
Somehow, I forced a small laugh, but it sounded as hollow as I felt. Hopefully he didn’t notice. It felt like it might break me to pretend to laugh the situation off—as if he hadn’t just broken my heart then stomped on it for good measure. “Look, I know what you’re like, Brandon,” I said. “I went into that situation with my eyes wide open.” Lie. Lie, lie, lie. I was so blind . . .
His chin jerked back. “Oh? And what am I like?”
I smoothed a hand down my cheesy Christmas sweater, ignoring the bite in his tone. I told him what everyone knows—that he’s a womanizer. But who could blame him? I gestured up and down, intentionally objectifying him to hurt him.
Except the truth of my own words hit me like a truck, knocking me off my feet. I hit the ground with a bone-crushing smack. I still can’t believe I had sex with him, knowing his history. It’s just that I never, ever would have thought I would become one of his . . . conquests.
“You think that’s what happened?” he growled, his voice strained like he was choking on the words. “That you were just another one-night stand for me?”
“You said we can’t see each other anymore,” I reminded him. “Sounds like a one-night stand to me.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Didn’t even try to defend himself.
It didn’t matter anyway. There was nothing he could have said that would have justified the disinterested look in his eyes. The desire he had for me before we’d fallen into bed was nowhere to be found—like it never even existed. Poof. Gone. He’d gotten what he wanted, and he just wanted me to scram afterward. He probably hadn’t even wanted me to stay the night. The thought makes me sick with regret. Never in my life would I have expected Brandon to treat me that way. I respected him. Looked up to him. Loved him.
But I was a fling. A blip on the radar.
A one-night stand.
The hearts in my eyes had disappeared, and the blinders were removed. In light of everything, I could finally see him for what he was. What he had always been, and what he will always be.
A womanizer.
“Evie . . .” he said. His voice was low and thick with pity and regret.
That was the moment I realized he’d broken my heart.
It was also the moment I started to hate him.
I smiled, forcing humor into my eyes. “Hey, we both know what that was, okay? That’s all I’m saying. I’ll be out of your hair in no time, okay?” Luckily for him, I wanted to leave so I could lick my wounds in private—and bury the memory under the avalanche of space and time.
He stepped toward me, but I was beginning to unravel.
Bracing myself, I faced him and propped my hands on his shoulders. He placed his hands on top of mine, his expression guarded. He was obviously concerned about me, but . . . that wasn’t enough. It didn’t make up for anything.
“Look,” I began. “That was fun, okay? And that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To have fun—no strings attached?” His mouth opened like he wanted to protest, but then it closed again. “So mission accomplished. I’m okay with pretending this never happened if you are.”
He hesitated, but eventually agreed that that was probably for the best. When he glanced at the door, I took that as my cue to leave. I sat down on the bench to slip my boots on, trying to hold in the full-body tremors I could feel building deep inside of me. My lower lip trembled as I struggled to hold it together, but I fought the tide of emotion by biting it hard enough to draw blood.
