Page 157 of Bitter When He Begs

“It’s already a thing.”

“Luca—”

I kiss him before he can argue. Slowly this time. Not the breath-stealing kind. Just warm and steady, like I’m promising him everything without needing words. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against his and whisper, “You can be mad at me all you want, Sunshine. Just don’t stop loving me.”

He exhales a shaky breath and rests his hand over my heart. “Never gonna happen.”

I wrap my arms around him and drag him down against my chest, burying my face in his hair. The projector hums in the background, the movie long forgotten. All I can feel is him—his weight on me, his warmth pressed into mine, his heart beating steady against my ribs.

After a minute, he mutters, “Still mad though.”

I laugh. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Sage

ThedrivebacktoLuca’s place is silent.

Not the comfortable kind. Not the content, satisfied kind that fills the quiet with something soft and steady. It’s the kind that makes every second feel like it’s dragging a little too long. Like my chest’s wound too tight and the stillness is pressing against it.

Luca’s hand is on my thigh, thumb brushing back and forth like it’s second nature now. Like he doesn’t even have to think about it. Like touching me is just a reflex. He’s humming under his breath, probably thinking about tonight, about the movie he set up on that ridiculous outdoor projector, about the blanket and the lights and the snacks he surprised me with. About how he kissed me slowly, with his mouth and his hands, and then all of him, beneath the stars like some fucking fairytale.

Our first date was perfect. Every single goddamn second of it.

That’s the problem.

He was perfect. The kind of perfect that digs under your ribs and refuses to let go. The kind of perfect that makes you feel like something’s going to break, just because it can’t be this good without consequence.

I turn my face toward the window and press my forehead to the glass, the coolness biting into my skin, trying to ground me. But it doesn’t work. Nothing works. Not when the panic’s already started to crawl up the back of my throat like smoke.

There’s something clawing at my chest. This tight, aching pressure like I’m seconds from imploding, and I don’t even understand why.

I don't even know I’m crying until one tear slips past my cheek and hits the collar of my shirt.

Quiet. Stupid. Unfair tears slide down my cheeks like I’m mourning something I haven’t even lost yet. I don’t make a sound, but I must breathe wrong, or twitch, or fuck something up because Luca’s hand pauses and his voice goes alarmed and gentle all at once.

“Sage?”

I try to speak, but my throat burns. The only thing that comes out is a soft, broken noise that sounds like it belongs to someone else. I rip my glasses off, wiping at my eyes like I can erase the whole mess. “I don’t—” I start, but my voice betrays me again.

Luca pulls over fast. No hesitation. He just yanks the truck to the shoulder and throws it into park before I can blink.

“Talk to me,” he says, already reaching for me, but I pull away.

This is too much, I’m too much, I needout.

I panic.

I fumble for the handle and shove the door open, stumbling out before he can touch me—before he can look at me with that much care and ruin me completely. I slam the door and walk blindly to the edge of the road, where the gravel crunches under my feet and the air is cold enough to bite.

I lean back against the bed of the truck, palms digging into my eyes, trying to shut it down. Trying to shove it back in the box I usually keep everything in. But it’s too late. My chest is heaving, my hands are trembling, and everything I’ve been trying not to feel is catching up to me all at once.

I hear his door open behind me. His footsteps are slow and cautious. And I know I should say something—tell him not to come closer, not to see me like this—but I can’t.

And when he stops in front of me, when he says my name like it hurts to see me unraveling, I finally break.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I whisper, my voice cracked open and raw. “I don’t understand why I’m like this.”

Luca doesn’t flinch or try to fix it or fill the silence with platitudes. He just steps closer and cups my face with both hands, his thumbs wiping the tears even as more fall.