I grab her arm. “Coco. What the fuck happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. You’ve been crying.”
She sniffles, looks away. “God forbid a girl has emotions.”
“Coco… “
“Nothing new has happened,” she whispers. “I’m just sad.”
“About what?” I sigh and make myself ask. “Is it a guy?”
Her gaze returns to me. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“I slept with a guy. Once. Now he doesn’t want to see me again. And I’m heartbroken. Tell me I’m crazy.”
“You’re crazy,” I agree, struggling to ignore the stab of jealousy, anger and pain in my chest. Here I am, barely touching her, and she slept with another guy.
What a fucking idiot I am.
“I know, right?” She laughs, sniffling again. “He hadn’t seemed the type to sleep with a girl and refuse to see her again, but… Oh shit.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” She looks away, her cheeks reddening. “God, I’m so stupid.”
“No, you’re not stupid. Never. Why would you say that?”
She laughs again. Wipes a fresh tear. “Sorry. The last thing you need is to console your cleaning help over a guy.”
“You’re so much more than a help,” I whisper and open my arms. “Come here.”
Yeah, how did this happen? How am I here, consoling this pretty girl who’s taking hold of my heart day by day over a one-night stand that didn’t turn into anything more?
She walks into my arms and wraps herself around me, burying her face in my chest. “Thank you. I needed a hug.”
And I need to hold her, even if holding her is torture. I kiss the top of her head, feel every soft curve pressed to my aching body, and curse a blue streak inside.
I can’t keep doing this. It’s fucking killing me. I’m trying to do the noble thing but all I want to do is tear her clothes off and fuck her so hard she’ll feel it for days. Gentleman? I’m no gentleman. I can’t be when all I want is to take her like a caveman, knot her and keep her on my cock for days.
I pet her hair, her back, murmuring that everything will be okay, though that’s a promise I should have learned by now never to make. It’s always a lie. Nothing is ever okay. Sometimes life is bearable with glimmers of hope and joy, but okay? What is okay? If it’s a synonym of wonderful, then it sure as hell is not.
I’m not the harbinger of good news.
She shifts in my arms, lifts her face toward me, a flower toward the sun—but I’m not what she thinks, not who she needs. She wants me to kiss her, touch her, love her, but look what happened when that guy slept with her and then ghosted her.
Not only am I much older than her, I can’t have a pack or family, so what do I have to offer? Nothing, that’s what. Absolutely fucking nothing.
So I do the only thing I can for her: I pull away.
I see the moment she realizes what is happening, the moment she retreats inside her thoughts, any hope of bridging the distance between us shattering like glass.
She takes a step back, moving away from me, the flush on her cheeks feverish. “Sorry. Thanks. I’m just… out of sorts. I’ll go now.”
“Coco, wait.”
