“Which explains why you came back from New York early.”
“Yup.” I force air into my lungs. “I wanted to see him and explain that what he saw was a misunderstanding. However, when I walked in the door, I caught him with his dick shoved down some blonde’s throat—”
I stop talking because Breslin’s face is redder than her hair and she looks like she’s going to blow a gasket any second.
“Yes, I know—bad Preston.” I hold up a hand. “But in his defense, he did ask multiple times if him hooking up with other women would bother me, and I always said no.” I fold my arms around myself as my heart clenches. “Because I didn’t realize it would…until I saw it.”
“Wow,” Breslin says softly. “That’s…big.”
“I know.” I swallow. “He promised he wouldn’t hook up with any more girls.”
I can feel her assessing me. “Other than you.”
“No,” I start to say, but then I remember what happened earlier. “Maybe. It’s complicated.” Which only makes me more confused. “It’s nothing serious, though. We’re just occasional kissing buddies.”
She looks unconvinced. “Mmhh.”
“It’s true,” I defend. “Random, make-out sessions are as far as it goes.”
It’s as far as it will ever go. Because he has a penis.
Breslin doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t have to, I read her loud and clear.
I get why she’s doubtful. Kissing often leads to more and I almost let myself go there once. But it’s not going to happen again.
“I’m not going to have sex with him.” I wag a finger at her. “And you’re sounding awfully judgy right now, missy.”
She holds her hands up innocently. “I haven’t even said anything.” She starts to walk away, but pauses. “Just promise you’ll tell me if…you know.”
It’s like she hasn’t heard a single word I’ve said. “No, I don’t know…because there will be none of that.”
“If you say so,” she sings as she opens the gate. “Love you. Call me tomorrow.”
I mutter a curse as I make my way inside the house at the same time Preston comes down the stairs.
“I’m not having sex with you,” I blurt out and his eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling.
“Okay.”
“I know I almost did, but you were right, it wasn’t because I wanted to.” My heart coils as I continue, but I don’t want to give him false hope or mixed signals. Which means I need to be completely honest about how I feel. “I know it’s not fair, because you have needs…needs I don’t want you to fulfill because the thought of you being with another woman kills me.” He tries to speak, but I’m not finished. “I’m sorry, the only thing I can offer you is kissing.” I gesture to my cardigan. “And maybe some over the sweater action.” I look up, feeling so confused and exposed it physically hurts. “I’m sorry my rules don’t make sense…that I don’t make sense.” I want to crawl in a hole and die when a tear streams down my cheek. “I’m sorry it’s not enough.”
That I’m not enough.
His long strides close the distance between us in no time. “Look at me.”
I can’t. Shame surges over my skin because I’ve become the kind of person I despise.
The difficult, complicated kind.
Preston tips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “It’s enough.” The heat of his stare is so strong—so potent—it charrs my bones, turns me to dust. “You’re enough.”
Everything inside of me stops when he bends down and his lips graze mine in a featherlight kiss, like he knows I’m so fragile the slightest bit of force might break me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
For understanding. For not demanding I give him more. For not treating me like a leper.
“For letting me be me…” I brush my fingertips against his strong jaw, in awe how someone with such sharp, masculine features could be so undeniably beautiful. “And for you being you.”
We stand there staring at each other for what feels like an eternity before the sound of a horn honking outside breaks our trance and he takes a step back.
“That’s my cab.”
I feel like I’ve been dunked in a vat of ice water. “Cab? You’re leaving?”
“I’ll be back later,” he assures me, but it does nothing to quell the uneasiness rising up my throat.
“Where are you going?”
He opens the front door. “Casino.”
My uneasiness turns to full-on dread.
“Wait.” I scan my brain for something that might make him stay, but I’ve got nothing. Especially since it’s his birthday weekend and he’s a grown man who’s entitled to make terrible choices. “Don’t go.”
A sound of annoyance leaves him. “Christ. Not you too.”
“I’m sorry,” I say instinctively, although I have nothing to be sorry for. “I was just hoping…”
“Hoping what?” he says when my sentence trails off.
I give him total honesty because I know he’ll be able to see through any bullshit.
“I was hoping we could hang out. Maybe watch a movie and gorge on the rest of the Chinese food.” Fidgeting, I talk faster. “I baked you a cake. It probably tastes like crap, but everyone deserves a cake for their birthday, so I made you one. I know you want to gamble, because that’s your thing and all, but…I’m asking you to choose me instead. Just this once.”
It feels like a century passes before he finally speaks. “What kind of cake?”
“Vanilla.” I begin, recalling the various Betty Crocker boxes I picked up from the grocery store. “Chocolate…strawberry…pineapple.”
He blinks. “You made four different cakes?”
That was the plan.
“Not exactly.” I wince because my baking skills aren’t up to par and I highly doubt it will entice him enough to stay. But dammit, I tried. “I wasn’t sure which one would be your favorite and I was pressed for time, so I kind of mixed them all together and hoped for the best.”
Shaking his head, he closes the front door. “Fine, but we’re watching Fight Club.”
“Deal,” I say quickly, my tone failing to hide my excitement. “You go to the living room and set up.” I head toward the kitchen. “I’ll be there in a jiffy.”
I hear him grumble behind me as he walks away, but I can’t help but smile because he chose me over poker.
The lights are turned down and the movie’s gearing up on the big-screen TV when I join him on the sofa a few minutes later.
After placing the cake down on the coffee table and belting out my version of “Happy Birthday”, I hand him a fork, hoping like hell it came out better than my lasagna did.
No such luck though because Preston looks like he just guzzled sour milk.
Embarrassment hits me square in the chest and I seriously regret not buying him a cake at the store. However, to my surprise, he takes another bite and smiles.