Page 50 of Let You Love Me

“I guess we’ll have to settle with this, then,” he murmurs into my hair.

I’m frozen in place. It takes five heartbeats just for me to sigh and sink into his arms before I’m engulfed in the heat of him.

His chest presses firmly against my own as strong arms hold me steady. Everything about him is larger than life, and this hug only proves it. He’s everywhere. I’m surrounded by man, tiny in his arms, and I decide very quickly it’s not a bad place to be.

If just a hug from him makes my head spin, I can’t even imagine what a kiss would do. I’d be damn near catatonic.

Which is precisely why I need to take a step away.

I start to move and he releases me with a groan, his eyes hooded beneath a fringe of thick lashes.

Apparently, I’m not the only one affected by something as innocent as a hug.

He runs a hand down his face, his voice low and husky as he says, “Fuck. You give good hugs.”

I chuckle though there’s nothing funny about the way my blood simmers in my veins; it’s simply the only sound I’m capable of making.

He clears his throat and shoves his hands back into the pockets of his jeans, looking sheepish as his eyes return to mine. “You know, I’m glad Sophie came along. She’s a really sweet kid. Hanging with her made me miss my sisters. Be sure to tell her thanks for the paleontology lesson.” He smiles.

Oh, my heart.

Any more and it’ll be a puddle inside my chest.

“Well, she certainly seemed to enjoy herself, too. I think she’s mostly impressed with your pizza eating skills.” Then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “You’re great with kids, you know.”

“Of course I am. I’m the ultimate big brother.” He winks. “And you’re a great sister.”

His words slap.

It takes me a moment to register them as my stomach hollows out, and all the blood drains from my face. “Sister?” I say, slightly numb.

“Yeah . . .?” he says with less conviction than before.

I want to cover my ears with my hands, unhear his words, and if I can’t do that, I’d settle for sinking into the asphalt.

He thinks she’s my little sister. Not my child.

I quickly rewind through our previous conversations, trying to find the point in which I might have misled him or given him the wrong impression, but I find none.

Clearly, he misjudged the relationship merely based on age.

He assumes I’m a carefree, unattached college student just like him. And the only reason the fact that I’m a young, single mom didn’t turn him off is because he didn’t know.

He. Didn’t. Know.

And once he does . . .

“I’d better go.” Turning for the driver’s side door, I swing it open.

“Wait!” He lunges forward, grabbing the door with his hands before I have a chance to slide inside. “What did I say? Are you not . . .?” He frowns, trying to meet my eyes while I do everything I can to evade them.

Any evidence of the smile I wore minutes ago has vanished, replaced with soul-crushing reality.

I hate that he misunderstood. And I absolutely hate how I thought for even a second that he might be interested in me—me,the single twenty-one-year-old mom who got knocked up at sixteen—when all along he had no idea.

This entire interaction and misconception reaffirm everything I already know to be true. That no one is going to want me withall my baggage. No one our age will ever want to be bogged down by a woman with a child. It’s too much. We’re too young. Guys my age want to party, sow their oats and have fun. They want to go to classes and plan their weekends without worrying about bedtimes and lunches, potty training, preschool, and cleaning up toys.

My mistake was forgetting.