I lean closer, maybe a centimeter, but that tiny distance feels like a leap off a cliff into the unknown. Our eyes never break contact, our breaths don’t slow. I wonder if his heart is beating as fast as mine.
“West…” His voice is low, warning.
My name is Phoebe, I want to say. No amount of forced formality can cut these ties between us.
I want to say it, but I don’t. There are more pressing wants on my mind.
I want him to sate the storm that’s been building since we were hardly more than kids.
I want his tongue in my mouth, my name on his lips, the look on my face when he comes into me burned into the back of his eyelids every time he closes them, just so he knows what it is to be owned entirely by another human being.
I want him to bury himself so deep beneath my skin he’ll never find his way out, so he knows exactly how it feels to have someone so enmeshed in your soul, it’s impossible to remove them without tearing yourself in two.
In this frozen instant, I’m honestly not sure if, given the chance, I’d slap his cheek or crush his mouth to mine, as I’ve wanted to for so long.
Let’s find out, a crazy voice at the back of my mind whispers. You know you want to.
I sway forward, unable to deny his pull for another moment… and try not to scream in frustration when he instantly takes two steps back. The haze clears from his eyes so fast you’d think it was never there at all, and his face shutters in an aloof expression I recognize all too well.
“Yes,” he says flatly, no longer looking at me. “That’s all I wanted.”
Shame, hot and hurtful, burns through me.
“Great,” I snap. “Well, if we’re finished here, I need to go schedule a prefrontal lobotomy to scrub this encounter from my memories, so…”
I turn on one heel.
“I mean it, West.” I flinch to a stop at the steel in his tone. “Stay away from Croft.”
My eyes flicker back to his, refusing to show any intimidation. “You gonna add the cliché ‘or else’ to that statement, or….”
He doesn’t say anything, but the skin around his eyes crinkles up the tiniest bit — anyone else, I’d say they were fighting a grin. But it’s Nate. He’s probably picturing ways to chop up my body and dispose of the pieces where no one will ever find them.
I swallow hard.
“Oh, goodie. Another scintillating moment of silence,” I mutter, rolling my eyes to prove how cool and collected I am. Psh. “You can see yourself out, Nathaniel.”
I use his full name just to goad him, knowing he detests the formality of it. Spinning around, I grab Boo off the couch and storm from the room before he can say another word.
Before he can see the angry tears glossing over my eyes.
Jackass.
I am so fracking done with Nathaniel Knox and his mind games.
Chapter Four
He probably only dates bad girls.
Perfect.
I’m bad at pretty much everything.
Phoebe West, giving herself a pep talk.
Okay, so, that’s a lie.
I’m not done.
I can’t be.
Where Nate is concerned, I don’t think I’ll ever be completely able to cut ties. Not unless I want to cut my heart from my chest, as well.
But I’m most certainly done dreaming about some kind of deluded happily-ever-after with him — a big white dress and him waiting at the end of the aisle, eyes tearing up with joy at just the sight of my beauty. A disheveled fixer-upper house we lovingly restore together, until each floorboard is imprinted with the strength of our relationship. A nursery painted a safe, gender-neutral yellow.
Phoebe, you lunatic, you are not the heroine of a Nicholas Sparks novel.