Page 38 of Maid of Dishonor
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “She couldn’t understand that you were my best friend, and you were always going to be the most important. I kept telling her that you and I were just friends, but she thought that she should be the priority in my life. I guess what she and I had wasn’t enough for her. So…we broke up,” he says.
My jaw drops a little, but when I realize I’m gaping like a fish, I quickly snap it shut again. “I’m—I didn’t—crap. I’m so sorry,” I say. My voice is barely a whisper, and my heart is being tugged in two directions: guilt that they broke up because of me and happiness that I was Carter’s priority.
He shakes his head. “No,” he says quickly. “No, don’t feel bad. I don’t regret it, Sam. I really don’t. I would do it again.”
But I sigh. “But Carter, she’s right. I mean, the most important woman in your life will be whatever woman you end up with. The woman you love will come first.She’llbe your best friend. It won’t be me. And itshouldn’tbe me,” I say. The words hurt, but I mean them, so I go on. “I know you think you won’t fall in love. And maybe you’re right,” I add quickly. “But if you do, you’ll be infinitely closer to her than you are to me. And I’ll—” I stumble over the words, because they’re about to turn into the biggest lie I’ll ever tell. “I’ll be okay with that. So…she was kind of right.”
Silence.
Carter’s eyes are intense on me, and the quiet after I speak is almost too much to bear. I keep waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, and every second of quiet just amps up the racing of my pulse. He simply looks at me.
He tracks my hands as I slowly buckle myself in.
He tracks the bobbing of my throat as I swallow under his scrutiny.
And he tracks the tip of my tongue as I wet my lips, suddenly dry and parched and thirsty.
His expression is closed, guarded, and I hate that I can’t figure out what’s going through his mind—until finally I see a glimpse of something. A slight widening of his eyes, the parting of his lips in what could be surprise or shock. The darkening of his gaze as I once again lick my lips, still inexplicably desperate for something to drink.
And then he looks forward again, settling into his seat.
“Music?” he says, as though he didn’t just memorize my face with his eyes. As though my heart isn’t thundering in my chest, beating violently against my ribs, trying to cross the space between us to reach him—to reach its true home.
To reach him—the man who will forever tell his significant others that I’m his best friend and nothing more.
Ten
Carter
Run.
The instinct pulses through my veins, floods into every part of me as I pace in my living room, probably looking like a madman. It’s a whisper in my mind, a churning in my gut.
Run.
I can’t have feelings for Sam. I can’t. Icannothave feelings for Samantha Quinn and ruin the best thing that has ever happened to me—her friendship. I can’t ruin my relationship with her, and Icertainlycan’t give her enough of my heart to end up a broken man if everything goes wrong. Because if I gave Samanyof my heart, she’d end up withallof it two seconds later.
Which means I can’t have feelings for her.
I can’t…and yet I do.
I pace around my little kitchen, every now and then flinging the fridge and the pantry open as though the contents will have magically changed. I’m all out of my sunflower butter, or I’d make my go-to comfort food—peanut butter and jelly, minus the peanut butter, because I’ve got a peanut allergy—but I have to settle for a bag of cheddar popcorn instead. Then I move my pacing to the living room, still lost in my thoughts.
Sam’s words in the car earlier hit me in a way no amount of introspection has thus far. I thought about them while we were driving and all the way through dropping off Maya’s pineapple as well. Because Sam said that Mariah was right. That if I ever fell in love, I would be closer to that woman than I am to Sam. That my significant other would be the most important woman in my life.
And I can’t possibly describe the force with which my body and mind rejected those words as soon as she spoke them.
No woman is ever going to be more important than Sam. Never will I prefer anyone’s company over hers. The very idea is ludicrous. She’s funny and smart and spirited and completely adorable and crap crapcrap.
I made myself think about it, earlier in the car. I stared at her and made myself assess my romantic feelings, because I just couldn’t believe what she was saying, that some other woman would ever matter more than her. I opened that mental dam and let my thoughts trickle to all the places I never let them go. Kissing Sam, running my fingers through her hair, touching her. Making love to her. Raising children with her. Growing old with her.
The feelings that rose in me were like a tidal wave ready to sweep me away. I was unprepared for that level of emotion. Is it love? Maybe, maybe not. But I can now tell you, with terrifying certainty, that I have never felt aboutanyonethe way I feel about Sam.
Run.
Run, run, run!
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