My stomach plummets and a sharp pang of disappointment shoots down my spine.
Embarrassment washes over me in a torrential wave.
Of course I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I thought after the last couple of weeks and finally that kiss, that he was interested in me.
But why would he when I’mme? It’s the same torturous history repeating itself, and I was foolish to think Cillian would ever want me the way I want him.
The girl who’s only ever had a handful of sloppy kisses who has absolutely no clue what she’s doing.
Why would he want that when he could have any of his fan club with a single effortless smile? I’ve already seen that much.
“Uh… sure, yeah. Sounds great,” I respond, pasting on a bright unaffected smile when I feel anything but. We make it to his bike, and I take the helmet from him, sliding it over my head without his help.
Fine. If that’s the way he feels then okay.Perfect.
I tamp down the sinking feeling and the hurt. He’s not even going toacknowledgewhat happened between us. He still wants me to go and find another guy.
If he wants me to go find someone else, then so be it.
My hurt has morphed into something much bigger as we walk into the packed bar on the outskirts of town and slide into an empty booth.
The air between Cillian and me is unbearably tense, and I hate that it’s the result of a kiss I enjoyed more than I should have. A deep exhale rushes past my lips as I sit back in the booth.
I spent the entire ride here with the hurt and disappointment colliding together in my head and leaving me frustrated but determined to show Cillian just how capable I am.
I’m not at all interested in finding another guy. Not when theone I want is sitting right across from me in this stupid, run-down bar.
But I’m going to do exactly as he wants: find someone else.
Even if it’s just to show him that I can and that I’m not hurt by his rejection. Even if it makes my stomach and heart ache just the same. I’m going to put on a fake, saccharine smile and pretend that I’m not affected at all.
Cillian glances around the bar, his eyes raking over the patrons as he settles back into the booth and places his large, ink-stained hands on the top of the table.
Completely unaffected.
“What about him?” He jerks his head toward a guy leaning against the bar watching the hockey game on the big screen. He’s around six feet tall, lanky, with black curly hair and really, really tan. The guy must live outside or in a tanning bed. Jeez.
He reminds me of one of the guys offJersey Shore.
While this guy is cute, sure, there’s no doubt that Cillian is the hottest guy here. Which makes me more annoyed with him.
Part of me wants to throttle him as much as I still want to kiss him.
And now I’m even more annoyed.
“Yeah… I mean, are you sure about him?”
His dark brow arches. “What’s wrong with him?”
I narrow my gaze at him. “Nothing’swrongwith him. I’m just making sure that he’s the right one.”
Besides the fact that he’s the color of an orange from the amount of fake tan he’s wearing.
Whatever.
“The only way to find out is if you”—he gestures to the guyonce more, pointing a long, thick finger in his direction—“go talk to that lad.”
Sighing, I shrug, then cross my arms over my chest. “Fine.”