I like him for the person he lets me see and doesn’t share with anyone else.
That thought is what keeps my butt glued to my seat, and my hand in Daniel’s firm grip. That thought is more dangerous than anything Daniel might inadvertently say to me, because that thought encourages me to hope for things out of my reach.
I try to pay attention to the movie, but I can’t focus when I’m concentrating on not hyperventilating. I start reciting prime numbers up to seven hundred and forty-three in my head, then move on to square roots with rational numbers. Old soothing habits I picked up in middle school. When one of Momma’s boyfriends lived with us for two years of hell filled with drinking, smoking, loud arguments, and police visits every time he resorted to taking his frustration out on Momma with his fists.
When the movie’s over, I’m exhausted in every way—physically, emotionally and mentally. Daniel wants to stop and get something to eat, but I can’t do it. I can’t fulfill this social role a minute longer than I have to.
Daniel pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex. I open the door before he has the engine turned off.
“Scarlett,” he calls out, worry in his voice. “Hold up.” He jumps out, running around the front of the truck. He intercepts me, grabbing my arm. “Wait.”
I try to look into his face, but I can’t make myself do it. I’m embarrassed both by my behavior and what he thinks of me.
“Scarlett, I think we got off to a rough start here, and it’s entirely my fault. I’m sorry.” He pauses, and I lift my chin to look at him. “Just because Price and I have had our differences doesn’t give me the right to treat you the way I did. You’re stuck tutoring him, and I should be understanding of that. I get it.”
I want to tell him it’s okay, but I can’t make myself do that either.
“Will you give me another chance? Please?”
I want to tell him no, but when I look at the evening objectively I can’t say he did anything terribly wrong. Everything he said was true, even if it came out wrong. No one is perfect. Lord knows I’m far from it. “Okay.”
He wraps a hand around the small of my back and pulls me gently to his chest while his other hand cups my cheek and lifts my face. His lips brush mine, and when I don’t pull back, he takes it as encouragement. His tongue runs along my bottom lip before seeking an opening to my mouth. I let him kiss me, and while I kiss him back, hoping that this time will be different, that this time I’ll feel something.
His hand on my back slides to the front and finds the opening to my coat, then settles on my hip.
I wait for the feelings I’m supposed to feel and although it’s pleasant, it’s far from earth-shattering.
His hand slides upward, and I involuntarily stiffen. Daniel stops, lifting his head. “Can I see you on Thursday night?”
I shake my head. “I have a big test in set and logic on Friday. I need to study.”
“Surely you can squeeze me in a couple of hours.”
He knows how worried I am about this class. I’ve told him so multiple times. “No. It’s Friday or nothing.”
Irritation flashes briefly across his face. “Okay.”
For the life of me, I can’t help wondering why he wants to go out with me again. I can’t figure out why I’m agreeing.
“I’ll walk you to your door.” He removes his hand from my waist and returns it to my back.
I lightly push his arm away. “That’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later.”
He doesn’t look happy. Maybe he wanted another kiss at my door, but he says, “Okay,” and returns to his truck. I walk across the parking lot as he drives away. I pause halfway up the stairs and turn around, sitting on the step and lean my head against the railing. I can’t walk into our apartment and face Caroline. She’s going to want details, and I can’t bring myself to share them yet. There’s no doubt that tonight was a disaster.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This isn’t the first time I’ve asked myself this question, in a multitude of situations. But this time specifically I’m referring to my inability to feel anything when being kissed by a man. Maybe I’m just too broken.
That’s the part that scares me the most. That I’m too broken to love anyone.
Chapter Fifteen
I sit on the steps for at least ten minutes, crying out my heartache and anguish. I’ve gotten control of myself when a dark figure turns from the street and jogs across the parking lot. He’s wearing a gray sweatshirt, and the hood is over his head. His muscled calves stick out from under his long shorts, and I know who it is before he’s at the bottom of the staircase, pulling back his hood.
Tucker.
He looks up and sees me.
I wipe my fingertips across my cheeks and keep my gaze on him.
He takes in my movement. I’m sitting in the shadows, and I’m grateful he can’t see my face. I’m sure my nose is red and my eyes are swollen.
He leans over his knees, out of breath, his eyes still on mine. After several seconds, he climbs the steps, one slow step at a time until he sits next to me and takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers and squeezing.
I close my eyes and lean my head into his shoulder.
We sit like this for several minutes, maybe longer. I lose track of time because all I know is that sitting like this with him feels so right, so perfect.
His thumb rubs the back of my hand, making slow circles, and I feel the tension leave my body.