Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Her jaw falls open.
I always thought that was just a saying. But now I know it’s the truth. Everly Rosewood stares at me slack-jawed, like she can’t believe I’ve said that. Slowly, she lifts her hand, pointing to her chest. “Are you equating me to your ex?”
“No!” I say it so fast because she needs to know that’s not what I meant.
“Then what are you saying?” The question is a quiet hiss.
“I’m saying that the whole night was about the project, and it just made me wonder—”
“Wonder what, Max? Make you wonder what? If I’m willing to put my head on the line for you? If I feel everything for you? If I’m willing to take all these chances for you?”
Her questions cut me to the core, and I deserve every single nick.
She pushes open her door and awareness crashes into me all at once. The spiral un-spirals and I snap back to reality. I fucked up big time.
I race out of the car to the other side as she’s trotting up the steps to her place. “Everly, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I spiraled, and it’s all my fault. It’s hard for me to trust.” I reach for her, but I don’t feel like I have the right to touch her, so I pull back my hand, trying to use my words and voice instead. “Forgive me. Please.”
She inhales—a long, thoughtful beat. “It’s hard for me to trust too, but I did it anyway.”
Her voice is breaking apart, and I am the worst boyfriend in the world for hurting her like this. I try to take a step closer. “I didn’t mean anything by it. My thoughts just spun out. All my fears climbed back up.”
“I can tell,” she says, but her voice is cool, and she’s wearing the armor of self-protection.
“I was making up conspiracy theories in my head at dinner. I was freaking out. Let me make it up to you. I’m crazy about you. I’m madly in—”
But she holds up a hand again, stopping me from saying the words, maybe because it’s not fair to tell someone you love them for the first time in the middle of a fight. “You were making up conspiracy theories. Because I would never do those things. I would never use you. I hope you know that.”
“I do.”
“I was ready to put everything on the line for you, and you had the audacity to say that.”
Was. She was ready.
“Are you ending this with me?” I ask, the words like razors in my throat.
She gives me a look that says how can you think that but then turns her gaze to the doorway. “Max, I have an early Zoom meeting with an East Coast team. At eight. And I do not have the luxury of earning a hockey player’s salary. I am going inside so I can get some rest and not make any more mistakes at my job.”
“Can I go upstairs with—”
“I need some space tonight. Please just let me have some space tonight.”
My heart caves in, but the woman asked loud and clear for one thing—some space tonight.
And I have to be the kind of man who listens. “Okay,” I say heavily.
Then she walks up the steps and opens the door, and I watch her go. My heart’s been punched.
By my own stupid fist.
48
MY NEW BED
Max
I don’t leave right away. I stare at her window on the second floor, debating.
I should go back in, right? Knock on her door and grovel on my knees.
I should buy flowers and chocolate and cake and lattes and bring them all upstairs and say I fucked up big time.
But her last words are on replay. Please just let me have some space tonight.
I hate doing this. Truly, I do, but I’ve got to listen to the woman, and she needs to not see me.
I don’t get out of the car and barrel inside like I did when I crashed her dates. I drop my head on the steering wheel. How can I fix this? How can I convince her I’m worthy of all her chances? But a few minutes later, I’m no closer to an answer than I was before.
I turn on the car and go. No clue where I’m headed. No way can I sleep. I just drive through Russian Hill, passing…wait.
Is that her pole studio? I hang a U-turn so fast, jerking the car to the curb. It’s late and the studio is closed, but I bound up the steps to the door of Upside Down, like I can find a clue there to fix this mess I’ve made with my own stupid trust issues.
Maybe I could buy her a lifetime supply of pole classes? Would that help her see I’m all in? I google the name of the studio to find the contact info, then send a quick email to the owner as I head back down the steps.