“He came to see Clay about a mission assignment the night of my birthday party you missed. He felt sorry for me when he found me crying in the bathroom, and he danced with me to keep all the sympathetic eyes from pitying me.”
Hale looks down at the ground now, and he takes a deep breath as if he’s digesting what I just said. I shouldn’t have told him that much detail. If we’re going to move forward, I have to stop bringing up everything behind us.
“So if I had been there, you wouldn’t have ever danced with him, and he wouldn’t have ever had you at all,” he says rather than asks.
“I’m not sure if you’re wanting an answer or just thinking aloud,” I mumble, wishing I had never let the conversation take place.
“I suppose both,” he mutters, and then he pulls me to be in front of him.
“I really don’t want to discuss my past with Brazen anymore. I can tell it’s starting to get to you in an agitating manner, and I don’t want there to be conflict this early on in our recently mended relationship,” I assert, and his lips gently thank mine.
“I love it when you speak of us being together. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear such a wonderful thing. I keep worrying it’s not real, and I dread waking up from this dream.”
“It’s not a dream,” I murmur softly while my lips strum his.
He smiles behind the kiss, and then takes my hand in his.
“Let’s get back to our place,” he says so softy.
“Our?” I muse.
“I want to get back to the way we were. I still want to marry you, Araya,” he says while kneeling down.
“No,” I blurt out, and pain instantly stings his eyes.
He stands back up and looks away from my eyes carrying the blunt rejection.
“So it really is a dream,” he grumbles.
I smile lightly, and then I press my body against his tense one.
“It’s not a dream, but you don’t get off the hook so easily. We just started this back up, and if you want to marry me, then at some point I want a real proposal. I’m not in a hurry to rush back in. I’m enjoying the place we’re in right now,” I explain, and a slight smile returns to his lips.
“You deserve a real proposal,” he smolders out.
“We need to pack,” I murmur against his deep, incredible, and I’m-about-to-get-fucked kiss.
“Later,” he growls, and my skirt lifts back up as my back slides against the wall.
“Later,” I breathlessly agree.
