“I used to hate blonde hair once.” His eyes narrow as he fingers the strand, his lips curling down. “Now it’s all I want to fucking see.”
“Reed?” I whisper, sickness unraveling in my stomach, spreading through my body, dark and poisonous, like oil in the ocean.
He brings his attention back to my face. “I told you I only needed you.”
My mouth drops open as the anger written across his face transforms to disappointment.
“Don’t judge me on my past. This may not be real, but I will respect you as though it is. And if I tell you that there won’t be anyone else, then there won’t be anyone else. Did you think I was lying when I promised you that?”
“No.” I manage to force the word out. It sounds small and pathetic in the tiny gap between us. “No, I didn’t,” I try again, with more conviction.
Reed reaches up and cups my cheeks between his large, warm hands, and his expression softens as he dips his face to mine. I don’t even think about what I’m doing as I wrap my arms around his neck and stand on my toes, letting my eyes fall closed as I part my lips, tilting my chin up to him as butterflies erupt deep in my core.
“Get some sleep, Harls. It’s late.” His lips change course, away from mine, and press to my forehead in a brief kiss. Then he pulls away, and my arms drop to my sides as my cheeks burn with shame.
I’m a terrible person. Here I am, judging him. But it’s not his fault, it’s mine. It’s every piece of dishonesty and betrayal I’ve witnessed. It’s every broken heart and destroyed family that I’ve seen. It’s my own shattered heart, my own battered family. My own sobering understanding of how much damage can be caused by sex and the lies that surround it.
Because I’ve felt it, deep in my soul.
Some people’s actions have far-reaching consequences, and my family is living proof of that destruction. But I’ve taken it out on Reed, forced by my scars to strike out at him. Blamed him, when all he has done since I moved in here is be the perfect gentleman and friend. No wonder he keeps saying the past is best left there. He can see right through my thin disguise. See right through it to the surviving pieces that are left of me since that day, years ago.
“Reed?” My voice wavers. He’s already halfway down the hallway as he looks back. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Me too,” he says, pausing for a second. My heartbeat takes over my whole body until it’s all I can hear, overpowering my eardrums.
Then he goes into his room and closes the door behind him.
Chapter eleven
Reed
Thenextfewdayspass by in a blur of meetings. I take part in two press interviews, and one photo opportunity at the opening of a new community garden, which I tell Harley she doesn’t need to attend with me. If she’s upset by my lack of interaction with her, then she hasn’t shown it. In fact, I’ve barely seen her. Although, that is mostly on my part. I’ve been leaving early and eating out with business contacts the last three nights to give her space.
To give us both space.
The thought of seeing how little she thinks of me is too much. It’s taken three days to accept it. To steel myself for it happening again. To prepare.
I’ve been an idiot. I thought asking her to play the role for the press was a wise decision. We already knew each other, and her job as a honey trapper meant she knew how to act the part.
Act.
I snort at my choice of word. I wish it were as simple for me as it has been for her. The only act I’ve managed to keep up in her presence is one of an asshole, who clearly can’t be trusted, judging by her reaction the other night.
I throw my pen down on top of the paperwork I’ve strewn across the coffee table. I finished up with Stuart after lunch today and decided to head back and work from the apartment instead. I wanted to be here when Harley returns home after work. Despite realizing how little she thinks of me and my promises, and how quick she is to expect the worst from me, I still want to see her. Icraveto see her. Something that I’m only just realizing, yet no closer to fully understanding.
The last three days have been utter shit. She texted me to tell me she was sorry the first day when I didn’t come home until she was already in bed. Then she texted each day since, telling me what’s been happening at work and asking if she will see me that night. I’ve replied, but my messages have been curt and to the point.
What can I possibly say? She’s made her mind up. I will always be that person in her eyes. The one who only cares about himself.
My phone beeps, and I click to open the message. It’s a gif of a skunk, its tail in the air as it sprays. Underneath it is the caption,Something stinks. I look at the added text below.
Just like my attitude the other night. I did overreact, and I’m sorry. H.
Three dots appear to show she’s still typing, and then more text appears.
I’ve finished work early. If you aren’t snowed under, can we catch up?
The sound of the front door opening and closing echoes from the hallway, and I rise to my feet at the sound of keys being dropped onto the hall table, followed by a weary sigh.