The boys lost tonight, eliminating them from the playoffs. I didn’t watch the game. I couldn’t even stomach it. I know they lost because I receive alerts on my phone about the Agitators, and I saw the headline. I sent a quick text to Pacey, letting him know how sorry I was that they lost, and he apologized for losing on my birthday and that he plans on celebrating me when he gets back.
Winnie and Blakely came over to spend the day with me. I moped around for the first half, crying a few times because I honestly didn’t know what I did wrong. Did he get weird because I gave him gummy bears? I was just trying to be nice. All morning, I tried to think of the moment I messed up, when I should have done something different, and all I came up with was the gummy bears.
I want to say that not hearing from Eli didn’t really affect me at all, but it did. I’ve come to the realization that no matter how hard I try, I like the man. And those feelings probably won’t ever go away, which is sad—because I picked the wrong person to fall for.
He’s so easily detachable from my life, despite me wanting to cling to him. And the worst part of it is that he doesn’t even realize how much it pains me to see him walk away, to watch him distance himself.
I can hear him move around the living room, and for a second, I wonder if he’s going to sleep on the couch. I almost wish he went straight back to his place, where I don’t have to have this twisting ball of anxiety pulsing through me, wondering what he’s going to do.
And then . . . he starts toward the bedroom.
Oh, God.
Panic ricochets through me. Should I act like I’m asleep? Keep my eyes open? Confront him? Ask him to leave?
I don’t have enough time to decide before he opens the bedroom door. From the light of the moon, I see he’s removed his suit jacket, and the buttons of his shirt have been undone, offering a view of his devastating, well-defined chest and abs.
Just like that, tears form in the backs of my eyes, and I curse myself for being so emotional over this man. For letting him hold rent all day—every day—in my head, twisting and turning my emotions until I can barely breathe.
I watch as he moves toward me carefully, and when his eyes meet mine, he pauses. Quietly, he says, “Are you awake?”
Holding back tears, I say, “Yes.”
“Penny . . .” He closes the distance between us. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I say, my voice wobbly. “Maybe you should just go to your place.”
He reaches the bed and stands over me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Of course he’s not. Because he doesn’t want to be told what to do . . . because he does everything on his time.
Pushing the blankets off me, I sit up on my knees so I can look at him better. His eyes quickly fall to my nightgown, the one that he loves so much, and then back to my eyes.
“I am barely holding it together, Eli,” I say. “Please, just leave.”
But he doesn’t move.
Nor does he reply. Slowly, his eyes flit over me, taking in every last inch. They fall to my chest, my collarbone, my neck . . . my lips. His breathing grows heavier as the air in the room seems to still, and silence captures both of us.
What is he doing?
Why isn’t he saying anything?
Why does he keep staring at my lips?
Before I can ask, he takes a step forward, and I gasp just before his hand slides behind my head, and his lips capture mine in one unexpected yet powerful kiss.
A kiss that lasts only a few seconds before I’m pushing him away.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He glides his tongue over his lips as if he’s granting himself another taste of me. “Giving in.”
“Giving in to what?”
He turns away, and I don’t miss the uncertainty in his tense shoulders and the way he pulls ferociously on his hair before turning back around.
When his desperate eyes meet mine, he says, “No matter how hard I try, Penny, I can’t separate my feelings from being the co-parent you need. I like you, want you . . . need you, and I’m a fucking moron for not saying it earlier, for trying to push you away instead.”
My heart stills and I feel my lungs beg, plead for a breath.
“Wh-what are you saying?” I ask.
He cups my cheek as he says, “I can’t stay away anymore. I want your lips, I want your body, I want . . . you.” His other hand grips my hip and then rises to my rib cage, where he holds me tightly, in place, not letting me stray any farther away from him. “I’m sorry for everything. For pushing you away, for fucking up your birthday, and for making you cry when you deserve nothing but happiness.” His nose passes over mine. “Please, Penny, please tell me I have a chance.”