I dared to look at him, and he angled his face toward me, his eyes searching mine in the low light from the candles and television. He reached out, sweeping my hair behind one ear, though it was a tentative, unsure touch.
“You’ve smiled so much tonight,” he commented.
He cued another one with that. “It’s been a great night.”
“You should smile like this all the time. You should have a boyfriend who makes you happy, Giana.”
I swallowed, and without warning, tears glossed my eyes.
Shawn moved in, closing the space between us as his eyes flicked to my lips. “Let me be the one to make you happy,” he whispered.
And then, he kissed me.
A little flash of excitement and desire shot through me at the first contact, and I sucked in a breath, meeting his gentle kiss with one of equal measure.
But in the next moment, I felt…
Weird.
He smelled wrong, tasted wrong. His lips were too soft, his hands too weak where they held me. He didn’t possess me, didn’t wrap me up in all that he was with that kiss. I didn’t feel anything, other than curious over what the difference was.
Maybe I just wasn’t focused.
I mentally dragged my full attention to him, kissing him with more earnest. That made him groan, and I smiled in victory as he pressed into me a little harder, leaning me back until my head hit the arm of his couch and he settled in on top of me.
He was hard.
I felt it against my thigh, but again, I couldn’t focus on anything other than that it didn’t feel right.
Stop comparing to Clay, I warned myself, wrapping my arms around Shawn’s neck and pulling him in for a deeper kiss.
I wanted this. I wanted Shawn. He had been my obsession all last year. I’d dreamed of this, of what it would be like to have him want me, to have him kiss me and hold me.
But now that I had it…
I tried and tried to make my brain shut off, to chase away every comparison that flew at me. But it was useless. Every kiss was lacking, cold and awkward compared to the heated ones I’d shared with Clay. Every touch was wrong, every roll of his hips against me made me wince in pain more than writhe in need.
Emotion strangled my throat as I tried with desperate kisses to feel something, anything, other than a longing sadness for what I’d lost. But it was useless.
I didn’t want Shawn.
I didn’t want anyone who wasn’t Clay.
I sniffed against a sob, pressing my hands into Shawn’s chest and stopping him before he could trail kisses down my neck. “Shawn, wait.”
“We’ve both waited long enough,” he rasped, kissing my fingertips. “I’ve got you, Giana. You’re safe with me.”
I almost rolled my eyes at how hard he missed the point.
“I should go.”
But Shawn kept kissing, trying to lower himself down my body before I abruptly shoved his chest until he was off me.
“I have a boyfriend.”
That sobered him, and he sat back on his heels, chest heaving and eyes wild as he tried to calm himself. I could see his erection straining through his sweatpants, but he nodded, running a hand back through his hair before giving me more space.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I… I’m sorry.”
I reached out to touch his hand. “Don’t be. I… I wanted you to kiss me.”
He smiled at that.
“But,” I added quickly. “I’m not yours to kiss.”
It was easier than telling him that once he had kissed me, I hadn’t liked it.
He frowned, but nodded. “I understand.”
A moment of awkward silence passed between us before I stood, swiping my phone off the table and tucking it in the pocket of my hoodie. “I’ll text you,” I promised.
And then before he could say anything else, I left.
I was numb as I walked the few blocks back to my place, unable to even shiver against the cool fog that had settled over the city. Groups of students laughing and going out for the night stumbled past me like I was invisible, and that was exactly how I felt.
How I’d always felt.
It was a pathetic sentiment, one that wasn’t warranted after having a very hot, very desired musician practically throw himself at me. I should have felt honored, should have been reveling in how badly he wanted me, in how he would have taken me if I’d only let him.
But the fact remained that he wasn’t who I wanted to want me.
To Clay, I was just a tool, a ploy in his plot to get Maliyah back. And I couldn’t even be mad at him, because I’d jumped headfirst into his offer to help me get Shawn because Clay wasn’t even on my radar then. Shawn was all I’d wanted, all I’d fantasized about.
How foolish of me to not remember that when Clay was holding me, when he was touching me, kissing me.
I was an absolute idiot, acting like I was the main character in some stupid romance novel instead of remembering that I was just the weird, nerdy girl trying to fake it.
Trying to fake everything.
I faked that I was confident enough to be a public relations associate, faked that I was Clay’s girlfriend, faked that I didn’t feel anything when he undressed me, when his mouth and hands brought me pleasure I’d never known in my life.
I faked that I didn’t care about him, that I wanted Maliyah to come back into his life, that I wanted to help that happen.
I had been living one giant lie for months.
And now, I had no idea who I was.
I dragged my feet as I rounded the last corner that led to my block, digging in my pocket for my key. I was too busy staring at the sidewalk that I didn’t notice that I wasn’t alone until I was at the edge of my stoop.
And a large pair of white Allbird sneakers came into view.
My heart stopped in my chest at the sight of them, at the dark gray joggers that cuffed at the ankle of legs I could draw blind, I knew them so well now. I clutched my key in my hand as my eyes trailed up those sweats, the NBU Football sweater, and finally, to Clay’s face.
His miserable, tortured face.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything other than watch where his knee bounced, his clasped hands balancing over it wrung together like he was a man on the edge of breaking. His nose flared, red eyes taking in the length of me like he was looking for something he couldn’t find even with a magnifying glass.
“How did it go?”
His question surprised me, especially with how slow and achingly it came from his lips. It was barely a croak, like the words had burned his esophagus on the way out.
“Honestly?” I asked on a slow breath. “Awful.”
Clay didn’t show any emotional response to that.
“I mean, he tried,” I clarified. “I… I got what I wanted, I guess. But I just…” I paused, stomach rolling painfully at the truth I wasn’t brave enough to say. “It felt off. It felt… wrong.”
I stared at my shoes, at Clay’s, at his hands that were still white-knuckled.
After a long moment, I managed a swallow, pulling my gaze to meet his. “Why are you here?” I whispered.
I swore I saw a world war raging behind his eyes, heard gunshots and bombs exploding as he battled with whatever was on his mind. It was like he was on the precipice of deciding whether he wanted to say it or keep it inside forever.