Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)(4)
The pain fueling that statement is stunning. He put an entire saga of lost love into it. He sounds even more devastated than I am.
I find that—and him—fascinating.
“May I ask what happened?”
He closes his eyes and exhales. “I surrendered to the reality that I wasn’t her hero. I was the villain. So our story could never have a happy ending.”
My heart beats so fast. Too fast. I resist the urge to reach out and touch him.
Shockingly, this unhappy stranger with angry eyes and heartbreak running through his veins is someone who might be able to understand what I’ve been going through.
God knows my girlfriends haven’t shown me any sympathy. If I hear, “Just move on already!” one more time, I’ll scream.
I lower my voice. “And so you broke it off?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t want to.”
“No.”
“You were still in love with her when you ended it?”
He nods. Then he opens his eyes and looks at me with such naked longing, I’m momentarily speechless.
“What’s your name?”
It takes me a second to remember. “Shayna. But call me Shay.”
“I’m Coleton. Call me Cole.”
“Hello, Cole.”
“Hello, Shay. How much time do you think it’s been since you sat down?”
His edginess makes me smile. “Maybe ninety seconds.”
“Feels like longer. Another eight minutes of this will make me want to jump off the nearest cliff.”
“Out of curiosity, are you this way all the time?”
“Which way?”
I take a moment to search for the right words. “Aggressively ambivalent.”
He arches his brows. “What is it you think I’m ambivalent about?”
I don’t respond, instead reaching across to pick up his glass. I take a sip, holding his gaze over the rim. He drinks whiskey too. Interesting.
I set the glass back down in front of him without saying anything, but he understands my meaning.
“You think I’m attracted to you?”
“I think you’ll be relieved when I leave.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re boring.”
“Is it?”
His glare could melt steel. He doesn’t like being challenged. I get the impression he so rarely is that it’s an unwelcome novelty for him.
He says flatly, “No.”
“Thank you for not lying.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s because you’re irritating.”
That makes me laugh. It startles both of us. We sit with the echoes of the sound dying in the air until another uncomfortable silence falls.
Yet neither of us breaks eye contact.
Emboldened by the alcohol and his unexpected authenticity, I say, “So you do find me attractive.”
His glare is deadly. “Out of curiosity, are you this way all the time?”
Enjoying how he’s throwing my words back at me, I smile again. “Which way?”
“Aggressively aggravating.”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“What did your ex have to say on the matter?”
A pang of heartache tightens my chest. I moisten my lips and look away. “I never aggravated him. I was too busy accommodating all his needs.”
He studies my profile. I know he wants to ask more, but he doesn’t. But his silence is active. He’s paying very close attention to me, to my expression and body language. After being with a self-obsessed narcissist for so long, this kind of engrossment feels decadent.
Chet always made me feel like a thirsty little house plant who’d been left to bake in the desert sun.
Looking out over the elegant room, I say quietly, “It’s funny. I know I’m an intelligent person, but when it came to my ex, I threw my brain out the window. I saw all the red flags. There were so many, he might as well have been a circus.”
“But he was just so charming.”
I return my focus to Cole, who’s nodding.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Narcissists are always charming.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“I was literally just thinking that he was a narcissist.”
“The only kind of man who would leave a woman like you has a personality disorder.”
When I look into his eyes, what I find is a reflection of myself, all ache and want and loneliness.
I’m not sure I like him. But I do trust him. Courtesy of my ex, I know all the ways a liar can hide. This man isn’t hiding anything.
He doesn’t seem capable of it.
Which is maybe why he sits alone in a crowded room, glaring at the rest of humanity, and looks at me as if he’d like to make me his supper but would rather let himself go hungry than eat.
I say, “I changed my mind.”
“About what?”
“About wanting to be here. I’m glad I came over. Thank you for letting me stay.”
“You’re not welcome.”
Another smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I’ve probably smiled more since I sat down with him than I have in the past three months. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re strange?”