“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
“That gets into the more complicated part of the explanation. Touches squarely on my so-called baggage.”
“Your father?”
“Not exactly.” He fingers a piece of steak. “Maybe. Partly. I don’t know.”
“Still, you should have told me, Ryan.” I reach over to touch his hand.
“You should have told me, Chelsea.” I sit back in my chair.
“Touché.”
“We’re both idiots,” he says.
“Broken,” I say. He’s right. We’re too tough for our own good—or trying to be. Trying to be strong, to handle everything on our own. But together . . .
“Stay with me tonight.”
He nods. “Whatever you need.”
“Even if I need you to . . . makeloveto me?”
He leans in, touches his forehead to mine. “If you love me back.”
“I already told you I’m in love with you.” My chest tightens. I shouldn’t need to remind him.
“In the throes of orgasm? That doesn’t count. Women—people do that all the time.” He backs up now, knows he’s on thin ice because this sounds a lot like he doesn’t trust me.
“I’m notpeople.” I’m the girl next door who’s loved you all her life. Or since I can remember.But I don’t add that. Why, I don’t know. I’ve already confessed my heart and soul, haven’t I?
“No,” he sounds confident. “I . . . get it,” he says.
I sit bolt upright, knocking him away. “Does this mean you love me too?”
“I’ve always loved you.” He says it likewhat are you, stupid?
I laugh. “I’ve always loved you too.”
“Like a big brother?”
“Not exactly.”
“Like a kid with a crush on an older boy?”
“Maybe. But you’ve always loved me as a kid sister,” I accuse.
“Touché.” He flashes a smile then his face goes all solemn and church-like. “Except it’s not true. I started feeling more for you when you hit your teens.” He swipes his hand through his hair like he’s still got aftershocks of that discomfort that’s held him back all these years. “But it’s different for a guy, you know. I felt like a creep having . . . those feelings for you. You were still too young for me. So I resisted. Big time. Forbade myself to feel like that. Ever.”
“In the meantime, you had all those girls falling all over you. I was so jealous when you were in high school at Saint John’s Prep and I was a teeny bopper, the girl next door wishing you’d notice me. And it seemed all you noticed were the hordes of girls throwing themselves at you. We used to see them at the games, then afterwards. Maggs and I would watch you come out of the locker room and the girls would swarm and you’d always have one on either side of you.”
“I don’t remember seeing you after my games at SJP.”
“Of course not. I didn’t exactly put myself out there. Maggs and I were just kids and she was constantly saying how those girls that were in love with you were crazy idiots, brainless fools, and other more colorful names.”
“Maybe they were,” he says, reaching out his hand to cover mine.
“Why do you say that?”