Page 51 of Better Hate than Never

He ducks his head as if he’s gathering himself. He breathes out a slow, concerted breath. “I shouldn’t have... I didn’t mean to...”

Those words echo in the air and sour it. My pride stings like a slapped cheek.

Christopher shakes his head, staring down at the ground, scrubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry, Kate. I just—”

“Wanted to talk?” I ask, stepping back and wiping my lips with the back of my hand, trying to erase the memory of him from my mouth. I hate how weak I just was, wanting that. Even more, I hate that he’s humiliated meagain.

I can’t believe we justkissed.

Christopher and I kissed.

Where’s the sign of the end times? The meteors raining down from the sky? The pestilence and rivers of blood and the Four Horsemen?

Christopher swears under his breath. His eyes meet mine, dark with regret. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Of course not,” I say tightly. “You could kiss anyone, why kiss me?”

“Now you’re twisting my words,” he says. “Don’t do that.”

“You’re right. How unfair of me! Our history dictates that, without hesitation, I should give you the benefit of the doubt!”

He yanks at his hair. “I’m sorry, all right?”

“Yes, you’ve made that very clear! How sorry you are! How much you regret kissing me!”

His eyes narrow and he erases the small amount of space I put between us. “What are you angry about, Kate? The kiss, or what I said about it?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “I don’t even know who the hellyouare. You send me flowers, you send me food, you’re waiting outside my work, insisting on walking me home, then you’re hauling me against you like this is some—some fucking romance book of Juliet’s, and none of it makes sense!”

“I’m trying to talk to you so itwillmake sense, but you won’t let me!”

“Because it doesn’t make sense! Because you don’t treat someone the way you’ve treated me my whole life, then magically want to ‘talk about it.’ ”

“And those twenty-seven years are all on me? You provoked me, taunted me, hounded me—”

“I was a fucking kid, Christopher! I was a child who just wanted to be a part of what you and my sisters, and hell, even my parents, had. I just wanted to belong!”

“You’ve made very interesting choices for being someone who wants to belong,” he says, breathing harshly, “considering you left and never looked back.”

“Because I wanted to live! I wanted to see the world. And I have some fucking pride. Because I wasn’t going to hold myself back, only to want things from others that weren’t wanted of me, too.”

“You aggravating, maddening, clueless woman—”

“Please, insult me more.”

He clasps my jaw, his thumb sliding across my lip, reminding me of our kiss, and God, I’m weak, because I want it again. I want teeth and tongue and his body moving with mine, hard, urgent, chasing something this has awakened inside me, something I despise him for.

His forehead hits mine, his mouth a breath away from meeting my own. He says, his voice dark and quiet as midnight, “As if anyone could not want you.”

Then he drops his hand, draws open my building’s foyer door, and hauls me inside, before slamming the door closed between us.

I’m rooted to the floor as Christopher spins in a fury and storms out into the night.

While I stand, stock-still.

Stunned by his words. Burning from his touch.

•FOURTEEN•

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