16. What Are We Doing?
What Are We Doing?
Hulking Brute: You okay?
Istared at that text all night after talking to Hazel and Grandma. Even when I put my phone down to try and sleep, I saw it behind my closed eyelids. And then I dreamed of replying, of telling Ash I just wanted him to hold me.
To feel those giant arms around my waist, pulling me close so I can bury my face in his neck.
And now I’ve been staring at it all morning, while I sit at this stupid booth. Avoiding looking in his direction. The sounds of the market swirl around me but I can’t hear them. The spicy winter scent tries to envelop me but I can’t smell it.
Would it really be so horrible if I just gave in? Noah is still alive, so there’s no guarantee that Ash would ever get hurt.
But on the other hand, both my mother and father are gone. And Noah did get kidnapped by a warlock, beaten, and put into a magical coma not too long ago.
I drop my head into my hands and groan. Before, I would just distract myself with sex. I could escape reality—escape being surrounded by a broken family—for just a little while. But I know in the very depths of my soul that having another man touch me would make me throw up.
Violently.
And I don’t want random-man dick. I want big, thick, muscly, mountain-tree-man dick.
I want Ash. And isn’t that terrifying? Am I going to be alone forever?
“Your phone broken?” Ash’s voice makes me snap my head up so quickly, I’m momentarily concerned I have whiplash.
His eyes are a roiling storm. He’s in the mood to fight and so am I.
Thank fuck.
“Nope! Why do you ask?” I snark, leaning back in the chair.
His fists clench, doing fantastic things to his biceps and forearms. “I sent you a text.”
“Hmm.” I glance at my phone. “Must’ve not seen it.”
“You must’ve not—” A strangled laugh escapes him as he paces back and forth a couple times in front of me. “I was worried about you!”
“Not that worried if you only sent one text and didn’t even try to call.” I shoot him a smug smile. “Or are you one of those people who’s afraid of talking on the phone? I promise, no one is gonna jump out and get you. You’ll be okay.”
His hands slam on the table, causing me to jump. In contrast, his eyes are full of pain and his voice is soft. “What are we doing, Goldilocks?”
No. No, no, no. I was enjoying the fighting, the fighting was good. Maybe not healthy, but good. Don’t make me answer questions I don’t have the answers to.
“Having a little tiff over a text message?” I ask, trying to ignore the swelling panic in my chest. My cheeks flame as he stares at me.
His eyebrows draw together, the sternness in his face highlighting the sharpness of his jaw. It’s a jaw just screaming to be sat on.
“Am I supposed to know what’s going on in your head?” he asks quietly, as if the words are forced out of him.
“I’m a riddle wrapped in a mystery wrapped in an enigma.”
“And now you’re quoting Churchill?” He exhales heavily. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
A bitter smile lifts the corners of my mouth.
“Most people see me and think I’m stupid.
Maybe it’s the blonde hair, maybe it’s the big boobs, but no one thinks I’m capable of knowing who Churchill is, let alone being able to quote him.
You wouldn’t be the first person not to know what to do with me. ”
It would suck if Ash underestimated me, too, but not surprising.
No one looks at me and thinks ‘intelligent woman.’ At first, it was fun using my looks to surprise people.
To catch them off guard. But I think as time has gone on, I’ve allowed people to see only that side of me.
I’ve kept my mind to myself to keep myself safe.
“I’ve never said shit about you not being smart, so don’t put words in my mouth.
Ever since you first opened your gorgeous lips, I’ve known you could talk circles around me.
What I’m trying to figure out is why the fuck you keep pushing me away.
Every single time I think we’re making progress, you switch it up and build those damn walls up again.
I know what I want, Goldilocks, and that’s you.
I let you in. Why won’t you do the same? ”
My soulmate knows how to shut me up. I just wanted to fight, to twist every word he said into something I could poke at him for. And here he is, matching me beat for beat.
What do I say to that?
There’s nothing I can say. So I don’t. I just match his gaze and wait. Wait for him to realize that I won’t answer this question. That I won’t cross this line.
I’ve made a decision: I’m not letting myself have Ash Cedar and I won’t go back on it.
He uses his hands on the table to push off, rocking back so he’s standing straight. “Fine.”
Then he’s gone.
And he takes my heart with him.