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Wrong? Nothing was wrong. Or everything. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Bullshit.” He closed the distance in the small living room. “I can still tell when you’re lying.”
“I just want to feel you.” She took a step forward and put her hands on his abdomen. It was too intimate a touch for where her head was, yet maybe it was what she needed. Touch him, hold him, try to say the things she needed to without words. Those tricky suckers weren’t coming to her, at least not the right ones. She slid her hands under his cotton shirt, and his warm skin gave her a rush. “And I want you to feel me tonight too.”
He took a step back, grimacing. “Not that I don’t want in you, babe. ’Cause I do. But not when it’s as a subject change.”
Damn it to hell.“Didn’t realize that was what I was doing.”
“So spit it out.”
“I don’t know.” She turned, not sure—
He grabbed her forearm. “Seriously, El. Ass on the couch, and your mouth better start moving.”
Her eyes bugged. “That’sa little bossy.”
“You just forced me to turn down sex in order to be an upstanding dude. I’m not thrilled.”
“Ugh.” She swallowed a groan and plopped onto the couch. “It’s stupid.”
“Obviously. But yet…” He gestured. “My boots aren’t moving, babe.”
With a deep breath, she dug into the problem neither of them had talked about since they first were catapulted back into each other’s lives. “I’m…sorry.”
“Er…” His jaw flapped for a moment before he rebounded. “Okay. But what for? Not that I’ll refuse the rare apology from you.”
“God. Never mind.” She rolled her eyes and tucked her legs underneath her, searching for Furry Baby and remembering that Manny had her pets while she was gone. They would at least snuggle her right now as all of the emotion that she hadn’t touched in fifteen years began to climb up her throat and leak out her tear ducts.Shit.She quickly wiped the corners of her eyes.
“Ella. Calm down. Kidding.” He strode over and sat next to her. “You’re sorry. What for?”
Sniffling, the past crept back so quickly. All the hopes, all the regret. “I should have called.” Just saying that out loud was enough to let the tears loose. “Heck, I could’ve written you an email. Texted. Walked into your dorm. Gone home. Gone to you. Something. Anything.”
“Shit, El…” Bishop dropped back against the couch, his head falling so he stared at the ceiling. It was forlorn enough to make her sob. They were in love, and she was the weak link.
“I know we had different majors, were at different sides of campus.” She wiped her cheeks. “But most of the time, we were literally twenty minutes apart. Literally, the same city. I just couldn’t handle it…”
He’d needed her, and she had been so lost in her own grief about Brie that all she could think about was herself. What kind of lonely hell had he been living in when she abandoned him?
“Tell me”—Bishop reached behind her and pulled her into his lap—“that’s not what you think.”
Of course it was. What else was there to think? One day, everything was fine; everyone was alive. The next day, there was silence. Silence morphed into depression that became separation until she wasn’t there.
Bishop stroked the back of her head. “I didn’t hunt you down as much as you didn’t come to me.”
“She was your sister.”
Without looking, Ella felt him nod. “Yeah.”
“You don’t blame me?”
“For Brie dying? Yeah. I did. Both of us. A lot…” He cleared his throat. “If we hadn’t been playing. If we hadn’t been drinking.”
Ella stifled a sob. “I know. I mean…” She took a shaky breath. “I mean with us. You and me. Do you blame me for us? Breaking up. Because, I’m sorry.”
“Ella.” He shook his head. “Never occurred to me.”
“Why?”