“Get off me…” I mumble, dodging another kiss, shoving her hands away when she reaches for my zipper.
“Relax, will you? I’ll steer you around the curves.”
She lowers herself between my legs.
I choke. Sputter. Want to puke.
Her hand slides into my pants. Curls around me.
Shock debilitates me.
I watch her face twist, her brows bending. Rejection. Revulsion. “What’s the matter, Lex? Do you play for the other team?”
I hardly remember what came next.
I managed to stumble from the room without my shirt, my belt hanging loose, while Bianca called after me and partygoers gasped and stared as I shoved my way through crowds and puked my guts out in the front yard. I woke up the next morning in the back seat of my car with a thumping migraine and a sick feeling crawling beneath my skin.
Loss. Betrayal.
I was changed. Irrevocably. Eternally.
It absolutely kills me to say these things, to voice the words out loud, but I force myself to keep going, to let Stevie see the raw truth of it. “I’m sorry for pushing you away that night,” I tell her, squeezing my eyes shut. “But when you kissed me, I froze. I didn’t know how to separate the moments, the tangled feelings, and I was trying to explain it to you, but I just…”
The shock in her eyes fuses with pain.
With guilt.
She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
“All I could feel was fear. I couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop it from ambushing me and taking me back there. I wanted to kiss you…Christ, I did. But that part of me…” My fingers clench tighter, nails digging into my palms. “It’s broken, Stevie.” I press a finger to my heart and open my eyes. “I’m broken.”
She steps forward, more tears spilling down her face. “Lex…I–I didn’t know,” she stammers. “I never would have—”
“Don’t apologize,” I whisper back. “I just need you to understand why I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be that night, and I really need you to understand why I’m fuckingbeggingyou to stay away from West.”
“Okay.” She nods, wide-eyed and stricken. “Okay. I will.”
I swallow and mutter quietly, “Good.”
We stand there, face-to-face, a few feet between us, the realization of all the things I just confessed slamming me in the chest. I’ve never told anyone that before. Not a single soul. But now she knows, now she sees the deepest, darkest parts of me, and I can’t take it back. I can’t erase the pictures unfurling in her mind, the same nasty, vile thoughts that keep me up at night.
Niggling panic pinches my gut as my pulse starts to race and sweat lines my brow. I grip the inner linings of my pockets, my hand clamping around the pack of cigarettes.
Stevie studies me, takes a small step forward. Her hand lifts like she wants to touch me, comfort me, maybe give me a hug.
But she second-guesses it, wraps her arms around her body, and hugs herself instead. Her eyes dip away, head lowering, as another teardrop makes aglittering pathway down her cheek. No more words are said as she inhales a breath, drops her arms, and moves around me toward the staircase.
I turn and watch her go, the pit in my stomach stretching, pulsating, hollowing me out.
Regret.
Regret that I’ve made her believe I can’t be touched, not when the cameras are off. Not when we’re alone, just me and her, dangling on the other side of the lie.
But I think that’s all I needed.
A hug.
Chapter 30
