Stuck on Love #2
For a second, I’m frozen in time, her arms around me, her warmth, her face bright with relief and joy.
She pulls back just enough to peer up at me, her hands resting on my chest. Those blue eyes sparkling, her smile wide, and before I can think better of it—before I can remember all the reasons why this is a fucking terrible idea—I kiss her.
It’s soft at first, tentative. I give her a chance to pull away but she doesn’t. She melts into me instead, her fingers curling into my shirt. I deepen the kiss, tasting the sweetness I craved all night. Strawberries and sugar and something that can only be found on her lips…
For one perfect moment, there’s no reason to keep my walls up. To keep my heart locked in an iron cage.
Then reality crashes back in.
I pull back abruptly, my heart hammering.
Her lips part, her eyes dazed and confused, and I—
The elevator dings.
I step back. My chest, despite knowing better, deflates. What the hell are you doing, man? You’ve been here before and look how that ended. In fuckin’ flames. I know better than to let pretty women like Molly in even an inch.
“Sorry, I—”
I grunt, cutting her off as the doors slide open to reveal Danny, his phone in hand. “Oh, my goodness,” he exclaims. “How did you—?”
“Fixed it,” I mutter, grabbing my work bag and striding past him. I don’t turn around, not even when I know she’s following me. I pick up the pace.
“Luke, wait—” Molly calls, but I’m already down the hall. “Luke!”
Fuck.
I keep walking, my grip tightening on my work bag. The cold morning air hits me as I push through the door, but it does nothing to cool the heat still burning through my veins from that kiss.
A kiss I never should have let happen.
Her footsteps tap behind me, getting closer. My keys in hand. If I can just get to my truck, shut the door, drive away—
“Luke, please!”
I’m at my truck now, but she’s right behind me, slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed from the cold—or maybe from the kiss.
Shit.
“Can we just talk about—”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” The words come out harsh with no room for argument. I need distance. Cold, hard distance before this goes any further.
Before I let myself want something I can’t have.
“Nothing to talk about?” She stops in front of me, blocking my path to the driver’s side door, those doe eyes searching my face. “You kissed me.”
And it was the best kiss I’ve had in years. Maybe ever.
Which is exactly why I need to end this. Now.
“I know what I did.” I force myself to meet her far too pretty gaze. I keep my expression hard, void of emotion even as my heart hammers against my ribs. “It was a mistake.”
Her shoulders fall. “A mistake?”
Say yes. Push her away. It’s for her own good. You’ll only hurt her worse later.
I clench my jaw so tight it aches. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“It shouldn’t have—” Her voice cracks and something in my chest twists painfully. “But you kissed me like—”
“Like what?” I cut her off, my tone sharp. Be an asshole. It’s what you’re good at. “Like it meant something? Because it didn’t. It was just a kiss, Molly. And it won’t happen again.”
Liar. Fucking liar.
She steps back and I’m forced to watch the hurt flash across her face. “You don’t mean that.”
I don’t. “I do.”
I move around her, unlocking my truck and opening the door with more force than necessary.
“Look, you’re the kind of person who believes in love and all that Valentine’s Day magic bullshit Danny’s peddling.
” And you deserve someone who believes in it, too.
“But I’m not that guy. I don’t do relationships, I don’t do romance, and I sure as hell don’t do—” I gesture vaguely between us because I can’t bring myself to put a name to whatever this…
electric thing is that’s building between us. “—whatever this is.”
“This?” She wraps her arms around herself and I have to look away. “You mean a connection, a…spark?”
Every word is a direct hit, but I can’t let her see that.
My hand tightens on the truck door until my knuckles go white. “That’s not what this is.”
“Right.” She laughs, but it’s hollow, broken, and I hate that I’m the one who put that sound in her voice. “Because heaven forbid you stop hiding behind your grumpy, wounded act.”
Wounded. The word digs under my skin.
My eyes snap to hers. “It’s not an act.”
“Then what is it, Luke?” There’s fire in her voice now, anger mixing with hurt. “Because in that elevator, you weren’t the guy who snaps at neighbors and hates Valentine’s Day. You were kind. You made me laugh. You held me when I was scared and you looked at me like—”
Don’t say it.
“—never mind.” She shakes her head, and I can see her shutting down, protecting herself. I know the feeling all too well. “Clearly I read that completely wrong.”
Tell her. Tell her she didn’t read it wrong. Tell her you haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since she knocked on your door last night. Tell her that kiss felt like coming up for air after drowning for two years.
“You did.” The lie comes out easily. Too easily.
She nods slowly, backing away, and I can see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes.
No. Fuck. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.
“Well. Thanks for fixing the elevator. And for the reminder that not every guy who kisses you actually means it.”
The words are a knife between my ribs, but I deserve it. I deserve worse.
She turns to walk away and every instinct I have is screaming at me to stop her, to pull her back, to tell her the truth. “Molly.”
She stops, her back still to me, and for one second I almost do it. Almost tell her I’m a fucking coward who’s terrified of feeling anything real again.
But then I see it in my mind; Molly, a year from now, looking at me the way my ex did. With pity. Or worse, with nothing at all.
Better to end it now.
“Have a great day at work, Luke.” Her voice is steady, but I can hear the tremor underneath.
She walks away, her shoulders rigid, and I stand there like a fool, watching her go.
I yank open my truck door and climb in, slamming it harder than necessary. My hands grip the steering wheel, and I rest my forehead against it for a moment.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I start the engine, the truck rumbling to life, and force myself to back out of the parking spot. I don’t look at her walking back to the building. I don’t let myself watch her wipe at her face.
I drive.
But even as I pull onto the main road, I can still taste strawberries. Still feel the way she melted into me, the softness of her lips, the trust in her eyes before I shattered it.
“It was a mistake,” I growl low, trying to convince myself. But when my fist smashes against the steering wheel, I know—I fucking know—the only mistake I made was letting her go.