Chapter 2
SYDNEY
I hate his stupid handsome face.
Okay, fine.
I hate that I don’t hate it.
Because the heartbreaking truth is, it’s a face I shouldn’t even find handsome in the first place. A face I just can’t find handsome.
And yet I fail. Constantly. Miserably. Again and again and again.
That’s me. Sydney Collins. A big fat failure when it comes to ignoring how attracted I am to a man I shouldn’t feel this way towards.
My brother’s best friend. Oh, and teammate.
How cliché am I, right? Longing after my older brother’s childhood best friend.
It’s a little embarrassing. A lot painful. And definitely not going to die anytime soon, if the way my breath catches every time I look at him is any indication.
I mean, I even crumble under his signature scowl, but not in the way any normal—sane—person would. Something about it sparks a warmth under my skin. And I always find myself wanting to get closer and closer to the flames.
Kind of like right now, with his relentless dark eyes fixated on me. There’s a sharper edge to it than there usually is. Yet I sit here, wanting him to never stop looking at me when anyone else would cower and run away.
But not me. Never me.
Because another heartbreaking truth? I’m not just longing after him. I’m in love with him. Helplessly so. And I have been for eight years, maybe longer.
In that time, I’ve come to accept that it’s unrequited. That he won’t ever see me as anything other than a pseudo annoying little sister.
How does that saying go? Hello denial, my old friend… or something like that. This is just Sydney’s version since my ‘acceptance’ is a big fat lie. Well, partially.
He may see me as his best friend’s little sister, but there’s not an ounce of me that’s accepted it as my forever reality. I blame it on the hopeless romantic in me.
Maybe it’s because I’ve had my head stuck in one romance book after the other ever since I stumbled upon their addictiveness at the ripe age of fifteen.
Or it could be the endless romantic comedy movie marathons me and Mum had growing up.
Or the fairytales we are sold as kids, where the princess always ends up with her prince.
Most of all, it might be because of my parents and the unconditional love that they shared. Truly, they set me up for failure in the love department. It was their story that put all these delusional thoughts into my head about a life altering kind of love.
One where you feel like your whole life hasn’t really begun until that one special person is there to walk through it with you. Where everything before them is a blur because it’s only the after that is worth remembering.
In the end, it’s a combination of all the above. The books. The movies. The fairytales I’ve been told and the real life ones I’ve had a front row seat to everyday growing up.
Because if this is my story and I’m the princess, then Lawson Moore is my dark prince.
Complete opposites in every way.
His dark hair and even darker eyes are a complete contrast to my blonde waves and baby blues. He has all black tattoos covering more of his body than I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. Meanwhile, I cried the entire time I got my singular colorful butterfly done on my left shoulder.
My closet is bursting with color. Shades of pink taking up the majority of it like I’m a real life Elle Woods.
He, on the other hand, doesn’t own a single piece of clothing that isn’t a shade of black.
I’m pretty sure if anything with actual color in it touched his skin, he’d probably break out in hives.
Or flames. Probably feels the same to him either way.
Some would say I can be a teensy tiny bit dramatic. I’d argue I’m just leaning into my emotions. Unapologetically. Often. Maybe a little too much, but whatever. At least people know I’m capable of feeling.
Unlike him, who’s like a brick wall enclosed in titanium. The man is completely unbothered by, well, everything.
I take in his tense stature as I continue to sip on my drink, a small smirk teasing my lips when he flexes his hands before shoving them in his pockets.
Everything except me.
I knew a part of him had to be bothered by what I did on the dance floor earlier, no matter how smooth he thought he was when he slid on his mask of indifference.
I was pushing his buttons. Still am.
And I absolutely love it.
“You don’t have to stay and babysit me, darkling. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”
He stalks over to the booth and slides in next to me. I fiddle with my glass to keep from reaching out and smoothing the ever-present line between his eyebrows with my thumb.
He picks out a fresh water bottle from the ice tub on the table. “I told your brother that I’d watch out for you.”
I roll my eyes. “When will you two stop treating me like I’m this helpless little girl that needs supervision? I’m twenty-four, Lawson, not the irresponsible teenager you had to swoop in a save after a bad night out in uni.”
He lifts a single eyebrow. “You think this is how I want to be spending my night? Sitting here, watching you grind all over some bloke? News flash, princess, there are infinite things I would rather be doing than standing guard. But here I am and it’s a good thing too since every other bastard in this godforsaken place can’t seem to keep their eyes off of you. ”
Was that jealousy in his tone? Or have I had one too many drinks and am imagining something that I want but isn’t actually there?
I shake my head to rid the thoughts and narrow my eyes at him. “Ever thought that maybe I don’t need a bodyguard? What if I wanted to find someone here to spend my New Year’s night with? Everyone needs a kiss at midnight, Lawson.”
I freeze when he leans in close enough that I feel his breath dance over my lonely lips. “Not everyone,” he whispers before leaning back and taking a sip of his water.
He smirks as he drinks, clearly thinking he’s won this little battle. I open my mouth to turn the tides back in my favor when my traitorous eyes drop.
Look, I’ve read a lot of romance books where the heroine falls under the spell of the hero’s hands, forearms, muscles, and every single clench of his jaw. And I used to laugh it off because that’s crazy, right? To be attracted to this random part of his body?
Well, the jokes on me because here I am, drooling over his bobbing Adam’s apple as he downs his water bottle in one go.
God, why is that so hot?
Wait. Aren’t I supposed to be upset with him right now? Grr.
I blink myself out of the neck porn haze and stand. “You don’t know anything about what I want or need. Except right now, which is the bathroom. So if you’ll excuse me, or do you want to come stand guard outside the door while I pee?”
He grunts and I take that as my ‘approval’ to leave. He doesn’t move his legs from where they’re spread out in front of him. I’m too stubborn to turn back and go around the other way.
Flashing my teeth, I turn so that my back faces him and lift one of my legs over his. I huff a quiet laugh when I see his body tense, but it’s short-lived when my heel catches on his boot and I stumble backwards.
I squeak and strong hands grip my hips, practically holding me up as I get my feet back under me. I close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart as his fingers flex.
“Sydney,” he growls.
I bite my lip to hold in my moan at the sound of his deep voice and look over my shoulder. His head is angled down, his face pinched in what looks like pain. And it’s like a bucket of freezing water over my senses.
“Sorry,” I whisper. I quickly extract myself from his hold and shuffle the rest of the way past him. When I’m free of his gravitational pull, I fix the hem of my dress since it apparently rode up during the whole ordeal without me even noticing.
“Go, I’ll be here.”
I nod and instantly comply, wanting to get away from whatever just happened as fast as I can. I practically jog to the hallway at the back of the club, blindly apologizing as I bump into someone with the haste of my escape. I can feel his burning stare on my retreating form the entire way.
The hallway is blessedly empty except for the few lingering couples who are clearly needing a bit of privacy. Pushing through the available door, I lock it before collapsing back against the cool metal.
I lied about needing to use the bathroom. It’s really the space I needed. Because whenever I’m around him, it’s like a black out and god only knows what I’ll say or how I’ll act. The man just frazzles me down to my usually sensible bones.
Sighing, I take the opportunity to do my business since I’m already here. Who knows when the next wave of drunk girls will descend. It would be my luck that that’s when I’d actually need to use it.
After washing my hands, I turn to the large wall mirror off to the side and stare at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed from the heat of the club and the deliciously sweet drinks. My wavy hair has lost some volume, but is in decent shape even from my dancing earlier.
I lift my fingers to my lips and close my eyes, imagining what it would have been like if he’d closed the distance earlier instead of drifting back into untouchable territory.
Lawson was right, but he doesn’t know how right he was.
I don’t want to kiss anyone here at midnight except for one man.
They wouldn’t be capable of making it feel the way it should.
A kiss is supposed to take your breath away and give you life all at the same time. You should feel it in your soul, begging for time to slow even just a little so that it wouldn’t end.
A good—real—kiss is supposed to electrocute your senses, light you up from the inside, and make you feel like nothing can touch you. It’s addictive. An obsession that only grows with each press of their lips against yours.
It’s heartbreaking because you realize you’ve missed out on this for as long as you have.
Inspiring because you know that you’ll get to feel like this every day from that moment on.