Page 91 of Bottle Shock
And now I’m being the ultimate coward, unable to face him. I’m not sure where we go from here or what it means. We’re married. I live in his house. I’m best friends with his sister. His family may as well be my family. There are too many strings between us—we couldn’t detach them if we tried.
He might’ve just been looking for physical relief, and maybe I was too, but it was also more than that for me. And now I’m worried we had two different experiences. There’s just no possible way he’s feeling what I’m feeling.
I wish I could disappear, hide away forever, rather than be forced to come face-to-face with Gavin. But that’s not an option. I have to deal with this. We have to deal with it. So I’m going to be a grown-up and do just that.
I don’t have to be at the real estate office until this afternoon, so I get ready, maybe putting a little extra care into my appearance. An extra swipe of mascara, that lip gloss I always get compliments on, a top that highlights my two best assets. If I’m going in there to have the world’s most uncomfortable conversation, then I’m going to look good doing it. It’s called armor.
I can see Gavin through the kitchen windows as I approach. He’s making one of his green juices.
That man is just too healthy sometimes.
Taking a deep breath, I push through the door, wearing my easiest smile. Because I’m fine—and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s looking like I’m one hundred percent fine. Because I am.
“Hey,” he says, looking at me over his shoulder, wearing an equally unbothered smile.
Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.
He stalks toward me—calm, relaxed, not at all embarrassed orconflicted or regretful or experiencing any of the myriad emotions I was anticipating. But he doesn’t stop at a respectable distance. He keeps going, until I’m backed up against the wall, his body so close to mine I’m forced to tilt my chin to meet his eyes. The ability to breathe leaves me; the rationale to step away is nonexistent. All that’s left is me, trapped in his gaze with zero desire to move.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, innocently, like we’re talking about the weather. Not that he left me so satisfied I fell asleep almost instantly.
“Good.” I swallow.
The corner of his lips lifts into a smirk as his eyes lazily wander the length of me.
I’m slowly turning to putty, my brain to mush. “How—how did you sleep?”
“Good. But I could’ve slept better.”
Another swallow—except this one goes down wrong, burning me to the point of needing to inhale a sharp breath. A move I immediately wish I could take back because it’s pure pine—pure Gavin—and now I’m convinced it’s laced with something that makes me dizzy.
“How could you have slept better?” I ask quietly, under my breath.
“With you.”
A warmth spreads through me, a full-body awareness. I think I might still be sleeping.
“What are you saying right now?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
His hand comes up to the side of my face, cradling my jaw as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. It’s a soft, gentle movement that makes me want to lean into his palm. His eyes are staring so deeply into mine, I think he might be able to see into my soul.
“I like you.”
My eyes flicker rapidly, blinking in disbelief. There’s no way I heard that right. I imagined it. I must have.
“I like you,” he repeats, like he knows I’m struggling to comprehend the simple words that are anything but simple. “I’ve liked you for a really long time.”
“How long?” It comes out breathless, as if I’ve been overexerting myself, when really it’s my heart tumbling and stumbling—doing cartwheels in my chest.
“Years.”
Years.
My head rears back. My mind shuffles through memories. He hardly spoke to me—actively avoided me. It doesn’t make any sense.
“I don’t understand.”
“Remember that day I came home to surprise Elyse and you were practicing for your audition?”
