“Look, I’m just trying to keep things profess—”
“Oh, hell no,” he says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and tossing his card on the table. “Fuck this.”
“Easton,” I fumble for the right thing to say to start damage control. “I told you I’m paying for dinner.” Definitely not the right thing to say. “It’s the least I can do.”
Way to go, Natalie. You might as well have punched him in the dick.
He silently glares at me as he tugs at his beer. Panic starts to set in as I realize he’s probably weighing his decision to stay or go.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You’re right, and I had no right to turn what you told me in confidence against you. It’s unforgivable, but please try, if you can, to forgive me. I’m projecting. I’m the asshole, okay? But like I told you, you’re freer than you think.”
“And that trap is in your mind,” he hisses, “you’re doing it right now.”
“I envy you, truly, the way you—”
He snaps to his feet, decision made, patience evaporating as I grip his arm to stop him. “Easton, I have my reasons. Please don’t be upset.”
“Fuck that, Natalie. I’m not going to watch you build a wall between us after I—” bared myself to you.
Even though he doesn’t say it, it’s heavily implied truth. He has bared himself, and I’ve done nothing but play into my lie, giving him nothing concrete. He fists his hands at his sides, his patience long gone as my window to come clean nears an inch from slamming shut.
“Easton, as much as a hypocrite as you think I may be right now, you have a public persona too.”
“I didn’t create it, and I sure as fuck don’t feed into it,” he spits, animosity radiating from him, putting purposeful space between us. It’s surprisingly painful, and while I hate it, I understand his anger.
“No, you don’t feed into it, which makes you braver than most—than me. I’m not denying that, but we all can’t walk around running rampant with our feelings. It’s exhausting.”
“Have you ever once stopped to think that’s maybe why you’re exhausted?”
“Jesus, it really is all or nothing with you, isn’t it?”
He gives me a dead stare because the question is redundant. I knew within five minutes of meeting him that he despises a disguise or even a thin coat of armor.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, knowing I made the wrong call as he stares down at the hand still clutching his arm, nostrils flaring. He’s holding back wrath I deserve, and for that, I’m thankful.
“Just so you fucking know, that was my first time playing in public,” he delivers to my heart which explodes into a chaotic rhythm.
“Ever?” I ask, gaping up at him. His silence has me sputtering as I realize just how much of himself he’s bared to me. “Easton, oh my God, Easton, I’m so sorry. I’m honored and…f-flattered and completely unworthy. Jesus,” my eyes water with guilt as I make my decision. “You’re right. You deserve better. So much fucking better.”
The side of his jaw ticks as he flicks his gaze back to mine, trying to get a read on me.
“Will you take a walk with me? Please. Before you leave pissed and decide you hate me, at least let me give you a better reason to.”
He remains silent, his jaw like granite as I stand.
“Take a walk with me, Easton, please.”
He gives me a cautious, slow nod as our waitress walks over and grabs his credit card. Eyes on Easton, I raise a hand to stop her. “Please charge it to my room, 212. Natalie Butler.”
Pocketing his card, Easton pulls out a large bill and hands it to her for a tip. She takes it with thanks, failing miserably at concealing a flirtatious grin. “You two have a great night.”
Come Undone
Carina Round
Natalie
It’s close to midnight as a silent, brooding Easton walks next to me along a short pier a few blocks from my hotel. Dots of brightly lit houses surround the water in the distance as I figuratively walk the plank toward whatever disaster lies ahead. As sleep deprived as I am and have been this past week, I’m surprisingly alert. As we reach the end of the pier, I palm the railing, wondering if I jumped in now, how far I would make it.
Sensing my hesitance, Easton steps closer to me, his quiet electricity surrounding me as I try to think of a way to explain my actions.
“Are you tired?” He asks softly, surprising me by speaking first, and with concern for me before darting his gaze to the dark water.