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I’d get on my knees and worship her if I could, but deep down, I’d grapple with my own fear—wondering if I could ever fully give myself and my heart to someone again. That’s why there are unspoken rules to our friendship, deep lines drawn in the sand that neither of us dares to cross. Not to mention, she won’t give herself permission to really fall in love.
As I discreetly watched Carlee from across the bar, I knew she wasn’t into Trever. If they had genuinely hit it off, I’d have left, ensuring she never knew I was here. But seeing her with him only confirmed that our relationship was lightning in a bottle.
“He said he was falling in love with me,” she says, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Why isthatthe go-to?”
I shrug. “Maybe it’s true?”
“Doubt it.” Annoyance coats her tone, and she avoids eye contact.
I know what she’s doing, pretending we’re strangers to anyone who might catch a glimpse of us. The muted buzz of conversation and soft clinking of glasses surround us.
“You’re the type of woman menwantto settle down with,” I reply, my voice steady, hoping to navigate the delicate topic with care.
“I think you’ve pegged me wrong, Weston,” she counters.
I wish with every fiber of my being that she could see her how I do. She draws me in like a moth to the flame.
“You go on dates with men who you’d never actually date long-term,” I say.
My honesty is sharp yet gentle. I don’t want to cut too deep, but she deserves the truth, and I know she can handle it.
Carlee nervously chuckles.
“Laugh, but you know it’s reality,” I assert, leaning closer, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You set yourself up for failure so you can continue being single. The chase is a game to you. One you’re not ready to give up yet.”
“Maybe you do have me figured out,” she finally concedes, her voice thoughtful, tinged with curiosity and a touch of vulnerability.
“I think it’s because you’re afraid ofactuallyfalling in love,” I say without regret.
I sip the wine, letting the bold dryness wash over my palate while she contemplates my words. Silence swallows us whole as an eternity passes between us.
“Wow, how much do I owe you for my therapy session?” she asks teasingly.
Spilling truths is a familiar routine we’ve fallen into since we became friends. We don’t hold back from one another because there is no time for bullshit.
“Don’t worry; I’ll add it to your bill,” I tell her, the corners of my mouth lifting in a smirk. I lean back in my barstool, enjoying how her laughter lights up the dim room.
“And how will I ever repay you?” she asks, her demeanor flirty.
“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” I reply.
The promise hovers in the air between us, charged with unspoken possibilities.
More people filter into the bar area, but it’s a Friday night, so that’s unsurprising. The hum of chatter surrounds us, blending with the occasional clinking of glasses and the rich jazz floating from the stage across the room.
Carlee licks her red lips, and she captivates my thoughts. I can’t help but wonder how the merlot tastes on her tongue.
“What’s on your mind?” she asks.
Her gaze moves from my mouth to the sleek tie around my neck; that tight knot draws her attention like a magnet. I’m her kryptonite.
“You’re eye-fucking me. You should stop that.” I don’teverlet that shit slide. I want—andneed—her to be acutely aware when she looks at me like I’m utterly irresistible.
“Blame the suit,” she replies, an amused smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
A well-dressed man is her thing. It always has been. She’s never denied her preferences, and I admire that about her.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. There are too many unspoken words and lingering glances.