And holy fuck,she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I mean,I noticed the other day when I met her, but sweet Jesus, I didn’t notice just how beautiful. She’s almost painful to look at.
I’ve never been struck like this before. Not even—I blow out a breath at the thought that just crossed my mind.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, wanting desperately to hug her, hold her, tell her everything will be all right.
I have no business trying to convince anyone that anything will ever be okay. But this girl—something about her makes me want to hope. I want everything to be okay for her.
She shakes her head, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t know anyone else was in here. I’m sorry.”
That voice. I can’t get over it. It’s smooth and warm with a hint of smoke, like my favorite whiskey. It ignites my insides in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
I don’t want her to apologize for crying. I don’t want her to apologize for anything. Ever. “I just needed to get—” I shake my head. Having no idea what to say, I decide on the truth. “I honestly don’t know why I came in here, but don’t apologize for how you feel. I don’t know what happened, but you have a right to your feelings.”
“Do I?” she scoffs. Her eyes close shut as she inhales. I don’t want her eyes closed. I want her eyes open. And on me.
I move a little closer to her. I don’t want to overstep or scare her. But I need to be in her space. Close as she will allow.
I really don’t know what the fuck has come over me. I’ve only had this reaction to two other people, andit wasn’t this potent even with them. This powerful.
I sit on the coffee table across from her, taking care not to touch her. She seems like she might bolt if I do. “Everyone has a right to their feelings,” I tell her, keeping my voice soft and soothing. “Even if those feelings are shitty. It’s the one thing that no one can take from us.”
Her blond head tilts to the side, causing the curls to fall onher face. Her eyes meet mine—I mean really meet mine—for the first time. “You’re not what I expected.”
I release a quiet chuckle. “You had expectations?”
A smile lights her face for the first time. Not a big one, but a smile, nonetheless. “You’re Maddox Masters. Everyone has expectations.”
I don’t let the smile on my face fall, though my gut clenches tightly because she’s right. Everyone does have expectations of me. The difference in meeting those expectations always depends on the person.
I wonder where I fall for her. Did she expect the worst from me like the media did? The bad boy heir turned rockstar who had been on the fast track to destruction? They expected me to OD. They always expect me to fuck up. Sometimes, I actually liked them the best. If I let them down, it meant I’d done well. If I didn’t—well, that just meant I’d lived up to their expectations, didn’t it?
Is she a fan? If so, on what side of the spectrum did she fall? Is she one of the ones that cried and sent emails and letters telling me they hoped I got better? Or is she one of the ones that were stupid enough to think that a drug problem and overdosing made me a badass?
No. She wouldn’t think it was cool.
Maybe she’s part of that group of people that’s disappointed in me. The part that holds me to a higher standard because of my name or celebrity.
I scratch at some phantom itch. I mentally argue about whether I want to know what her expectations were.
No one said I’d let them down. Bastian came close, but he never flat out called me a disappointment. A selfish bastard once or twice, sure, but he never said I disappointed anyone. Unfortunately for me, knowing they’re worried is just as bad.
“Just so you know, you’ve kind of exceeded my expectations,” she says as she watches me scratch at nothing, which pisses me off that she’s watching me struggle. Then I realize what she said.
“How the fuck have I exceeded your expectations?” I snap then wince when she does. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
“It’s fine,” she says, looking at her hands. “I just meant that you seem like a regular guy, that’s all.”
I laugh out loud at that. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me a regular guy, but I am. I’m just a regular guy.”
“You also seem really thoughtful. I’m not the best judge of character,though.” She says that last part with furrowed brows and a frown.
“I’m sure that’s not true.” I don’t know her, but she doesn’t strike me as the type to misjudge people. She does strike me as the type to wear her heart on her sleeve.
She smiles again at me as she stands. “I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were coming out here to do. I’m just going to go back to my room.”
Or maybe she doesn’t.
“You didn’t interrupt me. I think I interrupted you.” I nod at her spot on the sofa. “You were here first, after all. If you want me to go…”
