Love Song(66)

But I also wanted you to look at me like I was the most exciting guy in the world. I always felt like I was chasing some version of myself you might actually care about, but you never cared about making me feel wanted. You never let me in and you were never really there with me. So maybe think about that before you decide I’m the only one who ruined this.





You wanted me to look at you like you were the most exciting guy in the world? Well, I wanted you to look at me, period. But I was invisible until you felt like taking me off the shelf to play with me.

Now give me my fucking toaster back.





Chapter 22


BLAKE





I NEVER BELIEVED ANY OF those romantic notions about one kiss having the power to knock the earth off its axis. A kiss so world-changing, so soul-fueling, that you feel a cosmic shift right down to the marrow in your bones. When in one heart-stopping moment, you just feel…complete.

If you’d asked me before last night if a kiss like that existed, I would’ve said, “God no.” I would’ve laughed and told you that sounds like a silly schoolgirl fantasy.

Joke’s on me.

That kiss and I are now well acquainted.

In fact, I can never go back to regular kissing now, not after Wyatt Graham shattered my entire kissing worldview.

I feel almost sick. Not emotionally but physically, like I have a fever. My breathing is shallow, and I feel flushed, even hours after the fact. A part of me feels changed, which is so ludicrous because it was just one kiss.

Not only that, but it was a “mistake.” At least according to Wyatt.

With him, everything is a mistake.

Flirting? Mistake.

Kissing? Mistake.

Staying up all night pouring our hearts out to each other, letting our insecurities spill out? Big mistake.

His mixed signals make my head spin like a carousel. They’re exhausting.

I sit at the kitchen counter stewing about it, wishing he would make sense for once in his stupid musician life. Instead, he spews things like “I’m going to ruin you” and then kisses me like the world is ending and I’m his salvation. He says “We can’t go there” and then admits he’s been shutting down his feelings for me for years.

He lied to me on Christmas morning.

He looked me in the eye, donned a blank expression, and pretended he didn’t remember what happened on that counter.

Dick.

I turn toward the doorway when I hear his footsteps. He’s fresh out of the shower, dark hair damp and curling behind his ears. He’s wearing joggers and a white T-shirt, his feet bare.

“Morning,” I say, then lower my gaze to my breakfast. “There’re hard-boiled eggs and tomato slices in the fridge if you want.”

He nods at that but makes no move toward the fridge. “Can we talk about last night?”

“What’s there to talk about? It was a mistake, isn’t that what you said?”

Tension lines his shoulders as he prepares himself a cup of coffee. He doesn’t join me at the counter, leaning against the sink instead.

“I was drinking.” He sounds regretful.

“Yeah. You’re always drinking.” I pop a tomato slice in my mouth and chew.

“I told you it helps with my insomnia.”

“Is that why you get started before noon?” I can’t keep the mocking note from my voice. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I woke up this morning with zero fucks, as evidenced by my no-holds-barred responses to Isaac’s bullshit messages. And I’m tired of Wyatt’s excuses. “I saw you crack open a beer at eleven yesterday. In fact, since I got here, you’ve had a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.”

His expression is one of wry amusement. “So the smoking is a problem for you too now?”

“No. It’s your life, Wyatt. But just so you know, chicks don’t love it.”

“Never had any complaints before.”

“Then they’re lying to you.” I shake my head irritably. “Either way, I don’t care. If you want to give yourself lung cancer, go for it. If you want to be the living embodiment of the drunk rock star cliché, knock yourself out.”

Sliding off the breakfast stool, I pick up my empty plate and march toward him.

“Move,” I snap.

He stiffens for a beat before stepping out of the way to let me use the sink.

“Here’s the thing,” I tell him as I rinse my plate. “I’ve officially reached the point of not caring what you do or why you do it. So as of right now, we’re going back to the ground rules we established when I first got here. You stay the hell out of my way, and I stay the hell out of yours.”





“But it was a good kiss?”

I glare at Annaliese from across the booth. We’re at a sports bar in Tahoe City, and I just told her everything that happened last night, including how Wyatt blamed our kiss on being drunk and insisted it was a huge mistake, and all she’s taken away from this is that the kiss was good?

“It was a great kiss,” I grumble. “A magnificent kiss. But apparently it was a mistake.”

She brushes that off. “Bullshit. That’s just a cope.”

“My cope or his cope?”

“His cope. Listen, Logan. A man doesn’t passionately kiss you on a roof at midnight because he’s had a few beers. He wanted to kiss you. The only reason he’s backpedaling now is because that’s what fuckboys do. They feel something deeper than just their dick twitching, and suddenly the commitment apocalypse is looming over them, and they run.”