He turns in my direction and laughs mockingly. “This job. Where is it?”
“North Carolina,” I answer with direct eye contact. I won’t be distracted by his tattooed chest. Every summer he adds more and more to the design. What started out as one word—Trouble—is now surrounded by several lines of an intricate, woven design. I’ve never stared at it long enough to figure out what it is but from a distance it makes him look hotter than I care to admit.
“You were going to move to another state without telling me? I’m trying not to be offended here, but it seems everyone knows about your life except for me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That isn’t the type of relationship we have anymore.”
“Bullshit. I know things aren’t what they used to be but we still tell each other things like this,” he says.
“Like you told me about the teams that want to draft you? I only heard about that because I was in the same room when you told Nash,” I snap back at him.
He sighs. “I fucking hate that you’re right.”
“Even if we did, I still wouldn’t have said anything.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to hear you tell me it’s a bad idea to move away from home by myself.”
“I wouldn’t have done that,” he says, taking a cautious step toward me.
“But that’s what you do. You can’t help yourself. You always have something negative to say about my life choices and it isn’t your place. You want to keep an eye out for me—protect me—when we go out in a group? Fine. But I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“What if I want to erase the line completely? What if I want to go back to what we were before?” he asks, moving closer.
Before we slept together. Before he said we were a mistake.
“I can’t do that,” I say, shaking my head. He makes it sound so easy like turning on a light.
“And I can’t keep living like this with you. Everyone was in here celebrating something important to you and I didn’t know anything about it. I don’t want to keep being iced out of your life.”
“That isn’t your decision to make. I decide who gets to be involved in my life.” I push my fingers into my chest. “The moment you said I was a mistake…” I take a moment to calm my nerves. “That we were a mistake, you made that decision a lot easier for me. Isn’t this what you wanted? Nash’s sister to leave you alone—to stop bothering you with her books and fantasies?” I ask. “Well, you got it. You should be more grateful.”
“Grateful? I lost you. That word cost me you. Why would I be happy about that?” he asks. “I’ve been living in hell and hating every minute of it. The words didn’t come out right. This was never what I wanted.” He says the last part almost to himself. I’m not sure what to think of this whole conversation.
What did he mean to say? I’m afraid to ask.
“You can’t say things like that. You can’t snap your fingers and reverse everything that’s happened over the years. This is who we are now. Don’t come any closer,” I say, holding up a hand when he takes a step in my direction.
“Why not?” he asks, smirking.
“Because I need space.” I’m already feeling theKoa Affect. Simply being in the same room with the guy has my pulse racing and my limbs weak. I don’t need him touching me and breaking through my defenses. It’s best to keep a shirtless Koa at least a foot or two away.
“I’m tired of having space between us. That’s what we’ve been doing for years. I want you close,” he says, moving toward me.
“Where is this coming from? Did you just wake up this morning and decide you wanted me?” I cross my arms over my chest as if it will give me an extra layer of protection over my heart.
“I’ve woken up every morning for the past decade wanting you in one way or another. This isn’t a new revelation. It’s something I’ve known since the first summer we met.” He moves closer and grazes his fingers down the length of my arm.
“When we were kids I wanted to read books, ride bikes, and climb trees with you. In high school, I wanted you to wear my jersey and be my girl, and in college I’ve wanted you in every way imaginable.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Iwhisper.
“Maybe not to you but it doesn’t make it any less true. I want to give us a second chance.” The sincerity in his eyes is almost too much to take. I have to look away.
“It’s too late,” I state, tossing him a quick glance. I expect to see a hint of disappointment in his eyes but instead they’re filled with humor. “I don’t want to be with you. We had our chance, if you can call it that. We’ve moved on.”
He chuckles darkly. “Moved on? Is that what we’re both doing?”
