Some Sort of Crazy(59)

For example, I felt like I didn’t care if I never had another girl on my couch if only I could have her forever.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

And I felt like I’d never get enough of her body, her face, her brain, her voice, her laugh, her cinnamon buns.

HER FUCKING CINNAMON BUNS.

I felt like I was ready to give up anything I had to in order to have a chance with her—and it wouldn’t even be a sacrifice.

I felt like I wanted her. Like I needed her.

Like I loved her.

I WAS MESSED THE FUCK UP!

As if I’d been caught doing something wrong, I jumped to my feet and paced in front of the couch. Now what was I supposed to do? I had no experience with Feelings. What if she didn’t feel the same way? And why should she? My timing sucked fucking hairy balls—she was just getting out of a relationship. And I’d told her she was too serious all the time and needed to just relax and have some fun. I fisted my hands in my hair. Why the fuck had I done that?

Because you were right. She does need time off from a relationship. She does need to have fun. What she doesn’t need is another guy telling her he loves her right away, putting pressure on her. Especially a guy like you who doesn’t want any of the same things she does in life. So slow the fuck down.

It was true. As much as I cared for Natalie, I wasn’t ready to promise that I’d be up for the role of homeowner, husband, and father. And she wanted that. She deserved that.

I’d only disappoint her.

I heard the water go off upstairs, and I knew I had to go get ready for dinner or we’d be late. I scooped up the rest of my clothes and headed upstairs, reaching my room just as she opened the bathroom door.

Something gripped me hard at the sight of her standing there in a towel, hair dripping, face flushed, skin damp. My stomach knotted, my throat went dry, my hands flexed.

Oh, Jesus.

I couldn’t speak. I felt sort of sick to my stomach, too. And my chest—what the hell was going on in there? Was it love or cardiac arrest? Fucking hell, did people actually like this feeling? It was horrible!

I was going to die.





The look on his face was one I’d never seen before, somewhere between shocked and nauseated.

“You OK?” I asked, holding the towel tightly around me as I walked toward him. I’d spent the last ten minutes feeling kind of aggravated with him, but he really did look bad.

“Uh. No. Yes.” He swallowed hard. “Maybe.”

“We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.”

“I’m fine.” Now he just looked frightened. “I want to go out.”

“OK.” He didn’t look fine at all. Had I done something wrong?

He went into the bathroom without another word, shutting the door behind him.

What the hell? I threw my hands up. I get that you don’t do relationships, but could you please do civilized, if not friendly?

Men.

Seriously, why did women even bother?

Grumpy, I towel-dried my hair and pulled on my panties and dress, zipping it up as far as I could. I took my blow dryer and makeup bag to the downstairs bathroom, and while I blew out my hair, I let my resentment stew and gave myself a good ten minutes of envious grumbling that Skylar had managed to find someone like Sebastian—gorgeous, sweet, smart, kind, and totally devoted to making her happy. I knew it hadn’t been easy for them, but they sure made it look that way now.

When my hair was dry, I pinned it up in a twist, brushed my teeth, and put on my makeup. Upstairs, the door to the bathroom was open, and my breath caught when I saw Miles standing at the mirror in a blue suit, fussing with his hair. I’d never seen him in a suit before. He looked so…mature. Classy. Stylish.

Like a real gentleman.

He caught my eye in the mirror. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling the heat in my cheeks. And my panties. “You look very handsome. I love the suit.”

“Thanks.”

“Can you zip me up all the way?” For some strange reason, I felt shy as I walked into the bathroom and turned around. For heaven’s sake, we’d been naked and sweaty less than an hour ago.

“I think I can manage that. Although usually I’m unzipping dresses.”

“Ha, ha.” I didn’t exactly like the reminder of how many dresses he’d unzipped, but I was glad he’d made a joke. He seemed so on edge. And was it my imagination, or did he touch me as little as possible while zipping the dress? Now you’re just making shit up. Relax.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He didn’t take my hand as we walked down the hall, he didn’t stand too close to me in the elevator, and he barely spoke to me on the ride to the restaurant. Something was definitely off with him. “Are you OK?” I asked as we pulled up at valet parking.