Page 121 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Clearly I do have to explain because you’re not—”
“I can’t do this.” He says it loudly, with force, his brows drawn down and his jaw hard.
It feels like a punch in the gut.
When I only stare at him with my mouth open, he looks at the ground and says softly, “Fuck.”
Breathing is proving extremely difficult. When I speak I sound like Minnie Mouse. “You’re breaking up with me. Is that what this is? You don’t want to see me anymore?”
He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head, still looking at the ground.
“Matteo, talk to me.”
When he raises his head and meets my eyes, breathing becomes impossible. He’s a million miles away, and fading fast.
“You need time. Time to grieve your father. Time to grieve your ex. In six months, you’ll probably feel very differently about everything. Right now, as you said, you’re confused.”
“Was confused,” I whisper, trembling. “Was.”
He closes his eyes briefly, his expression registering pain. “I forced this on you. All of it.”
He sounds so full of regret I want to throw my arms around him and make him feel better. Except he’s ending our nonrelationship, so I also want to break his head.
“Hey! You didn’t force anything on me, pal!” I say heatedly. “Don’t paint yourself as the bad guy! And don’t paint me as some damsel in distress without any choice in the matter! What happened in the dressing room happened because we both wanted it. And all those kisses happened because we both wanted them to.”
“I was blackmailing you,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, you were! Newsflash—I loved every second of it! If I didn’t, you’d have two black eyes and an empty hole between your legs where your dick used to be!”
He glares at me. I glare right back. “Don’t you dare chicken out on me now, Moretti. I will be so mad at you if you chicken out on me now.”
“Calling me poultry isn’t going to help anything,” he snaps, stepping closer.
“I’ll call you a goddamn wet noodle if I want!”
His eyes blaze. He growls, “That mouth,” and takes another step toward me, as if he wishes he wouldn’t but can’t help himself, his shoulders stiff and his lips flattened, his head turned slightly aside in protest.
Pinch your nose if you have to do it, Count Egotistico, but kiss me, dammit. Kiss me now.
We breathe angrily at each other.
We do our wonderful eye-fucking thing.
Then he tilts his head skyward and shouts, “Fuck!” He snaps his head back down and glowers at me. “I’ll call you a taxi. Go wait by the gate.”
The sound of a wooden castle door slamming is exactly as loud as you’d think it would be.
THIRTY-FOUR
By the time I get the phone call, I’m deep into a third glass of wine, a second bag of almond biscotti, and a hopelessness I suspect is soon to become the defining characteristic of my personality.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Now isn’t a good time, Brad.” I stuff another biscotti in my mouth and chomp loudly into the phone. Serves him right for calling in the middle of my breakdown.
