The girl I’m in love with.
The girl I can’t let go.
“Hey,” I say quietly when I’m standing in front of her.
She glances up from her phone, blinking in seeming shock when she realizes it’s me. “Hey.”
“You look beautiful.” The words trip out of me, like I can’t contain them. But it’s true. She’s gorgeous in her dress, her hair, her dark eyes and ruby red lips.
I want to kiss all that lipstick off her mouth.
“Thank you.” Her cheeks are the faintest pink and her gaze rushes over me. “You look handsome.”
I’d planned on taking photos of the two of us together. Maybe even taking a few photos with my parents, my family.
What a dumb sap I am.
“Thanks.” I run a nervous hand through my hair, glancing around to make sure no one is nearby before I say, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Dare I think her expression turns hopeful? “Sure,” she says, nodding toward the empty spot beside her. “Sit down.”
I do as she says, sitting way closer to her than I need to. So close our thighs press against each other, and I can smell her delectable scent. “Are you having fun?” I ask.
“No,” she says with a sad smile. God, she’s killing me. “Not really.”
“Then why did you come?” I want to touch her. Reach out and grab her hand. Caress her cheek. Touch her hair. Something. Anything.
She makes me yearn. Fuck, she makes me desperate.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, looking away from me. “I thought I was doing the right thing, coming to this party and celebrating your parents. Spend some time with my friends, dress up in a fun costume and drink lots of alcohol. But I’m here, and it’s like I don’t want to talk to anyone. No one really wants to talk to me either. I guess I’d rather be alone in my misery.”
“Would you rather not talk to me?” I will get up and walk away from her right now if that’s what she wants. I don’t mean to upset her, but I have to give this—us—at least one more try.
I just…I have to.
“No, I want to talk to you. I do. It’s just…” She shrugs again. “I’m sure you’re mad at me. Why would you want to talk to me?”
I give in to my urges and grab her hand. Her fingers are trembling and I interlock them with mine, squeezing her hand tight. “I’m not mad at you.”
Maisey gazes up at me, her brown eyes full of so much sadness. “You’re not?”
I shake my head, trying to find the right words to say to her. I don’t want to screw this up. “I could never be mad at you. Not for long, at least.”
The barest smile curves her lips, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Maise.” I take a deep breath, hating the nerves that suddenly fill me. I can do this. I can tell her how much she means to me. “I know you said you wanted to end this—us, but I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
Now she’s frowning at me. But she’s still not talking.
“You mean too much to me. You always have.” I squeeze her hand again and try to smile, but it proves difficult. I’m too damn nervous. “I’m in love with you, Maisey.”
Her mouth drops open and she pulls her hand out of my grip.
“I am,” I tell her before she can say anything else. Tell me I’m crazy or whatever. “I don’t think I ever got over you. I know I never got over you. Not when I was eighteen and like an idiot I broke up with you. Not after all these years, when I didn’t know what you were doing, or where you were, yet you were here all this time, almost like you were…waiting for me.”
“I was definitely not waiting for you,” she retorts, sounding irritated.
Her protest feels so familiar I want to laugh. Typical Maisey.