“Beau …”
I nodded grimly. “You don't want to. It's okay.”
“It's not that I don't want to.”
“Right,” I said with a shrug.
I didn't care to ask for an in-depth explanation why she wouldn't see me again. I'd broken enough hearts to know that the words that followed were always just vague enough to avoid giving anyrealreasons why things between us wouldn't work out.
“No, seriously, Beau,” she said, as if she could read my mind.
“Hm? Seriously what?”
“I'm not just saying that; I trulywouldlike to see you again. But … I'm kind of crazy.”
“Youdohave a boyfriend, is what you're saying?”
That was another thing with the type of girls I hooked up with: they always said they were single, but later, come to find out, they weren't.
“What?” she laughed. “Jesus, no. Where did you come up with that?”
“Nevermind.”
“I say I'm crazy, Beau, because I was just lying here a second ago thinking about how much I might actually like you. But deep down? I'm sorry, Beau, but … I can't trust you. I just can't. I'm so sorry.”
Oof.
Like a punch to the gut.
Hell, that waswayworse than any of the terrible lines I used to dump girls.
“Why not?”
“You're handsome. You're sexy. You'rea famous athlete, you're rich, you dress well. Even if you're a bit of an asshole, you've got a magnetic charm that draws attention to yourself.”
I started to smile. I liked the new path this conversation was taking; I always loved to hear about all my positive attributes. “Yep. All true.”
“See? A little bit of flattery, and you soften up like butter.” She gave a playful, but still somehow serious, roll of her eyes. “Everywhere you go, you stand out. Because you're tall and good-looking and muscular and sexy. Back at the diner we ate at? The hostess couldn't keep her eyes off you.”
“What hostess?” I asked earnestly.
“You didn't even notice, did you? You're probablysoused to getting that kind of attention from women, you don't even notice the way women look at you. Hell, every girl we walked past on the sidewalk was smiling at you, pushing out her chest and trying to get your attention, too.”
“Uh, okay. Why does any of this matter?”
“Because I'll be driveninsane,Beau, thinking about all the girls that want you. Thinking about how you're always on the road, in new cities, living this young millionaire life, having women throw themselves at you.”
I didn't get why this had suddenly turned so serious. I wasn't asking her tomarryme or anything. “But I'm—I'm only asking if you want to meet up again in a week. I don't get why you're being so serious?”
“Oh, Beau.” She put her hand against my cheek. “That's exactly the issue. We see things differently. At dinner, you said you only sleep with people you don't care about, and I only sleep with people I do care about. We couldn't be any more different in that way.”
I frowned. I hated that this was beginning to feel like a struggle—you couldn'targuesomeone into caring about you.
“I wasn't saying that I wasopposedto the idea,” I said. “Just that it's never happened to me before.”
“Beau, it's just that I think I might be more of a traditional girl than you're used to seeing. Or, at the very least, I'm wise enough to know that I'm playing with fire. And if I keep fucking around with fire, I'm going to get burned sooner or later. Badly.”
I hated what was happening inside my chest; the awful, crushing tightness, like I was being buried under stones.
