Page 195 of Most Valuable Players
“Let me get you some water and Tylenol.” I start to stand, but he captures my hand and tugs me back down.
“No. I don’t need you to do that. People are always trying to take care of me. I just want you to lay here with me.”
“You are very stubborn.”
His mouth pulls up into a smile, eyes still closed.
“You know, it’s okay to let people do nice things for you. It doesn’t mean you’re incapable. That’s how relationships work.” I bite at the corner of my lip. “Speaking of, I’ve been trying to talk to you since we got back from break, but with everything that’s happened, we haven’t had a chance. Maybe tomorrow we can hang out, just the two of us?”
His lids flutter open and those dark blue eyes focus on me. “It’s okay, Ginny, I already know. I overheard you talking to Adam.”
“You know what?”
“At your parents’ house. I was in your room that morning before we left, and I overheard you tell Adam that you… how you feel about me.”
“Oh.”Crap. Embarrassed, stilted laughter slips out and I sit up. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“I didn’t know what to say.” His lips turn down at the corners and then his tongue darts out to wet them. “Ginny… I like you a lot.”
All the blood drains from my face. The way he says it and his expression—it’s excruciating.Like.He didn’t tell me because he doesn’t feel the same.
I’m absolutely horrified, and fleeing is the first thing that comes to mind. Get out of here before I start crying.
“I forgot how honest you are when you’ve been drinking.” I try to laugh it off, but tears sting my eyes. I stand and look for my clothes. “I’m going. Let’s talk tomorrow when you’re sober.”
“Please don’t go. This is why I didn’t bring it up before. I didn’t want you to say it and be hurt if I didn’t say it back. What we have is great and it’s just a bullshit word.” He runs a hand through his hair, making the dark strands stand up, then the other hand joins it. I love his hair. It’s always such a beautiful mess. Even now when he’s breaking my heart.
“Love is a bullshit word?” I shake my head in disbelief. “This is why I told Adam and not you. I thought it might be too soon and I didn’t want to pressure you or make things weird. I had no intention of telling you that I love you.” I swallow. I can’t describe how much I hate that the first time I utter those three words to him, it’s like this. I feel completely shattered that I’ve been his unknowing pity case while he’s been secretly trying to figure out how to let me down easy.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. It isn’t that you…” He pauses. “Wait, you weren’t? But you said that you wanted to talk. I just assumed that’s what it was about. I’ve been worrying about it all week.”
“Oh my god.” I glance to the ceiling and try to calm the anger rising. When I look back to him, I can no longer keep my eyes from welling. Hot, angry tears.
“Fuck, that came out wrong,” he says.
“I was going to ask you to be my boyfriend, you big jerk.”
His brows draw together. “Oh.”
“But it’s really nice to know you’ve been stressing about me using the L-word, heaven forbid. What an awful thing for you to cope with.”
Anger. Yes, I need more anger to keep from feeling the sadness.
He gets to his feet. His jeans are on but unbuttoned and they slide down on his hips as he starts toward me. “Fuck, Ginny. I thought I already was your boyfriend.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve never talked about it. Hence,the talk.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Not loving me or thinking the whole concept of it is ludicrous?” My voice cracks.
He groans and he runs those big hands through his hair again while he struggles to find the right words. But it’s too late. What could he possibly say now? Any illusion I had that he might feel the same way, today or someday in the future, is now gone. Dating a guy who isn’t ready for a serious commitment is one thing, but once you tell them you love them (even by accident), there’s no going back and pretending it’s just a casual fling.
“This isn’t going to work.”
“Don’t say that. Forget everything I said in the past five minutes. Start over. Ask me to be your boyfriend.” He closes the distance between us and frames my face with his hands. “Ask me, Genevieve,” he pleads.
He makes a strangled sound deep in his throat as I pull away and finish getting dressed, tossing the T-shirt of his I was wearing on the bed, yanking on my own clothes, and slipping into my shoes. I think he might say something else to try to stop me, but he doesn’t. He just watches me prepare to leave, looking helpless. Before I go, I have to say it at least once—out loud and to him, if only for myself.
