Chapter 18 #4
“Nah,” he says. “You definitely do.”
I feel sort of irritated, but weirdly fascinated, that Luke thinks he has me pegged.
I sit up. “Okay, Luke, since you know so much, what kind of man do you think is my type?” I’m sure I’ll regret asking this, but I’m too curious.
He thinks about it for a few seconds. “Someone clever who makes you laugh, but also someone who isn’t intimidated by you. Because you’re a lot—and I mean that as a compliment.”
“Thank you for clarifying,” I say flatly. “Also, I’m not a lot.”
“You are, though. You’re also incredibly sharp, and you move fast when you know what you want to do.”
Okay, fine. I’ll allow that.
“You hold yourself to a standard most people wouldn’t even attempt. And when you fall short of it, you’re harder on yourself than anyone else would be. You’ve probably been doing that your whole life and saying that it makes you realistic instead of how other people see it—as obsessive.”
Ouch.
“And you need someone who doesn’t find that exhausting . . . You need someone who finds it interesting instead.”
Someone who finds me interesting instead of exhausting.
I almost want to laugh at this because the guy he’s describing doesn’t exist. Not in my world. Not when the moment someone’s interested enough to kiss me, he’s gone.
Actually . . . I kind of want to cry, not laugh. I stare straight ahead and blink a few times, pushing the feeling away.
This was a bad idea, asking Luke this.
“Hey,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder. I don’t look at him. “That wasn’t supposed to upset you.”
I close my eyes, a single tear escaping and moving down my face. I hate how easily this man can read me. Or maybe I don’t hate it so much as I don’t know what to do with it.
“Claire.” He says my name, his voice nearly a whisper. I feel his thumb on my face, swiping away the tear. “I’ve never thought you were exhausting.”
Oh. Oh, wow.
I look up then and find him staring at me, sitting so close to me on this couch, our bodies touching from shoulder to knee.
He’s so near, I can feel his breath on my face.
And there’s this electricity pulsing back and forth between us.
It sort of feels like it’s been there all along and I’m just now noticing it.
It’s not electricity, exactly; it’s more like magnetism. And the pull is intense.
Luke dips his chin, a hand moving to my cheek. He caresses it with his thumb, slowly tilting my face toward his.
He’s going to kiss me. Luke wants to kiss me.
And I want him to. I think I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.
But just as I’m about to let him, just as I’m leaning in toward him, my brain kicks in. I can’t kiss Luke. What about the curse? I’ll lose all this.
I’ll lose him.
I jerk my head away and get quickly to my feet, the side of my body feeling instantly cold without his warmth.
“Claire?” he asks, confusion on his face.
“That’s Archie to you,” I say, trying for some levity. He doesn’t bite.
Oh gosh. I want to forget this ever happened. I want to go back to how it was before. But mostly, I want to wipe the hurt look he’s giving me right now from my brain. Forever.
“It’s late,” I tell him. “I . . . I should go.”
I grab my purse from the floor. “Thanks for dinner. And the clothes. I’ll get them back to you.”
I’m out the door before he can even respond.
I get home faster than usual because there’s less traffic this late at night, and I’m relieved to find Sam’s friends are gone when I unlock the door and go inside.
“How was your date?” Sam asks from the couch. I was hoping she’d be asleep, but no such luck.
She peeks her head over the top of the couch, and her eyes go wide like saucers. “Claire, you’re wearing men’s clothing.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I tell her.
“I’m thinking a lot of things right now,” she says. “Is the curse . . . it’s broken?”
“No.” I shake my head, blinking again to keep the tears back because I really hate that stupid curse. More than ever.
“Nothing happened,” I explain. “There was a work emergency. I ended up at Luke’s place.”
Her eyes widen even more, which I didn’t think was possible. “Those are Luke’s clothes? Tell me everything.”
“I spilled soup on my dress,” I say. “Luke let me borrow some clothes so he could treat it. That’s all.”
It dawns on me then that I left my dress at his place. And I still don’t know what Victoria’s response is going to be. The more shocking thing is that I can’t bring myself to care about either.
“Oh,” Sam says, her disappointment almost palpable. “Well, that’s a bummer.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “It’s a bummer.”
For so many reasons.
I go to my room and flop down on my bed, not bothering to turn on the lights. I just lie there in the dark.
Luke almost kissed me tonight. What if I had let him? I know “what if,” though. He would have forgotten all those nice things he said about me tonight. He would have forgotten . . . everything.
I can never let that happen.
I roll over and try to fall asleep, but all I can do is smell the remnants of that spicy cologne on his shirt and cry.