Page 122 of Hopeless
I shove him, but it’s no use. He’s too big. Might as well run around trying to push trees over at this rate. “Please.” My voice cracks as I look up into his face. “Fuck off.”
“Not until I finish what I was trying to say back inside the house.”
“You dumped me. What more do you want to say?”
Intensity paints every inch of his stupid, handsome face while his eyes dance back and forth between mine.
I wait for him to say something.
But he doesn’t.
“Did you forget what you wanted to say, Beau? Because I thinkI can’t do this anymoresums things up, don’t you?” I spit the words out, steeling myself. Trying to inflict pain. Though I think repeating his words out loud hurts me more than anyone.
His hands tighten on my body, gripping me as he pushes his knee between my legs, pinning me in place. Tears stream down my cheeks, clumping my eyelashes, and my chest aches so heavy and deep that simply breathing hurts.
The hand on my waist moves up, wiping away another tear before pushing back a lock of my carefully styled hair. “What I meant to say,Bailey… ” He emphasizes my name in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. His hand cups my head so I can’t look anywhere but straight at him. “What I meant to say is … will you go out with me?”
Everything around me comes to a screeching halt. Not only is the sentence juvenile, but it’s also just plain confusing.
“You just broke up with me.”
A boyish smile curves his sinful lips. He kisses my temple and goes back to staring me down. “If you had let me finish, I’d have told you I couldn’t keep doing it anymore because pretending this thing between us is fake is fucking killing me.”
“What?”
God, that’s what I blurt out?What?
“The only reason you got this far is because I went back into the house for the ring.”
He reaches down and pulls the teardrop-shaped diamond from his pocket, holding it between us.
“I’m done pretending to be head over heels in love with you because I’m legitimately head over heels in love with you. And acting like I’m not tears me up.”
I grip his wrists, squeezing so I can assure myself that he’s real. That this moment is real. Because it feels distinctly unbelievable.
“Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe this is impulsive. Maybe you don’t love me back. But I’ll wait. I don’t care. I’ll take my time with you. So long as I know you’re really mine, I can be patient.”
“Beau … ” My chest heaves as my brain struggles to catch up.
He doesn’t give me a chance to say any more before he’s pulling my hand down and sliding the engagement ring back onto my finger. “This belongs here,” he murmurs.
“Maybe we should just date for a bit?” God, I’m not firing on all cylinders right now. I should tell him I love him back. I should kiss him.
“Call it whatever you want, sugar. But the ring stays here.”
We both stare at the diamond, the back porch lights flitting off every brilliant facet. Our breaths come out ragged. We’re both amped up. Confused, excited, frustrated.
“Feels like bad luck to wear it when we’re not really engaged.”
“Wearereally engaged.” His response leaves no room for debate.
“I mean, if we’re taking our time, testing this thing out for real, you probably shouldn’t waltz around pretending you intend to marry me when you don’t.”
I swear he growls at my response. A deep rumble in his chest. A narrowing of his eyes. The vein at his temple throbs.
I hate myself. Why am I arguing with him and poking holes in his logic when this should be a dream come true?
It’s because it doesn’t feel real. Good things like this don’t happen to Bailey Jansen. Not with men like him.
