I don’t want to lust after him.
I don’t want to envision the kind of delicious torture he could put me through in this position, waiting for me to communicate properly.
“Are you going to listen to me?” he asks, repeating himself.
I give it a few breaths before I say, “Fine.”
He releases me and then takes my hand, which I let him have, and he walks me back to the table, where we both take a seat.
When we’re settled, he asks, “Are you done being stubborn?”
“Are you done being an asshole?”
And just like that, the smallest of smirks pull at his lips. Just like the beginning of our relationship, we’re back at ground zero, me irritated, him taking some sort of joy out of it.
Annoyed with the smirk, I fold my arms across my chest and ask, “Do you find humor in this?”
“I do. Reminds me of our early days.”
Me too.
“I was more partial to our later days.” I look away.
“Don’t get me wrong, so was I, but it’s nice to bring things full circle, don’t you think?”
“I think we need to get on with whatever presentation you might have so I can move on.”
That pisses him off, judging by the narrowing of his eyes and clenching of his jaw. Given the shift in our relationship, I didn’t think it was possible to revisit what it was like when we were first together, but I was wrong. We could very much get there.
But what I hate is that it invigorates me.
His jaw twitches as he reaches out and takes one of my hands, and this time I let him. Holding it firmly, he stares me down and simply says, “I love you.”
The words stun me.
They take my breath away.
But they also don’t feel entirely real.
“I don’t believe you,” I say. “How do I know you’re not just saying that?”
Frustration laces through his eyes as he reaches for the folder and opens it, revealing another contract. But this one is less formal. Instead of legal jargon, it looks as if he typed it up himself, and it only consists of bullet points on a single sheet of paper.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Our new contract.”
“You think I’m going to sign a new contract with you?”
His eyes flash to mine. “Cut the goddamn sass for a second and hear me out.”
“That’s one way to win me back.” I roll my eyes.
“Do I need to bend you over this table just so you knock it off?”
My body heats up and I can feel my eyes widen from the thought.
He catches it.
The intrigue.
The yearning.
The need.
“Don’t,” I say, holding up my hand as he shifts. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Then hear me out and I won’t be forced to take extreme measures.”
God, it’s annoying how commanding he is.
Domineering.
Possessive.
But I also love it. What is wrong with me?
Some of the steel leaves his eyes when he says, “I’m sorry, Lottie, for a lot of things. I’m sorry that I blamed you for something I had no right blaming you for. I’m sorry for breaking our trust. I’m sorry for not leaning on you when I should have. And most importantly, I’m sorry that I hurt you. To see you cry, see you so upset, and know I’m the one causing that pain . . . it kills me.”
And just like that, with his soothing voice, the irritation drains from me as the tension lessens in my shoulders and . . . I listen.
“I quickly realized my mistake when you started to leave. My heart leapt in my throat when you got in your sister’s car. And when I saw you drive away, I knew you’d taken a huge piece of me with you. It gutted me seeing you leave, which made me realize I love you. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. And it hit me like a ton of bricks. I need you to be a part of my life, Lottie. I need you to be a permanent fixture. Which is why I came up with this contract.”
I don’t take it, but instead, I say, “Read it to me.”
Clearing his throat, he says, “My legal terms aren’t up to par, so don’t make fun of me.” That makes me inwardly smile. “‘This contract binds Huxley Cane and Lottie Gardner once terms are agreed to and signatures are present at the bottom.’”
“You’re right, your terminology is way off.”
“I was drawing a blank when writing this up. Bear with me.” He sets his shoulders back and reads some more. “‘The following requests must be followed by both parties. Request number one—after some careful thought and consideration, Lottie agrees to forgive Huxley for being a massive ass.’”