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“Yeah,” he says. “Oh.”

I have to know more. “Then… why… why an escort?”

“Because I can’t touch you.”

Once again, my heart jumps, and I’m starting to worry this conversation is going to send me into cardiac arrest. “Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

I count to ten in my head. This is definitely one of those crazy real-life moments Dr. Reynolds told me I would eventually encounter. “Because of what happened to me?” I ask. “That’s why you can’t touch me?”

“That’s part of it.”

I’ve never felt more unwanted than I do right now. And that’s saying a lot.

“What’s the other part?”

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “Let’s not do this, okay?”

“No. I think we should talk. Please…” I can’t possibly let this conversation go. It will eat at me and eat at me, and I won’t sleep for days, wondering about every little word and detail.

“Holly, look at me. Look atyou. I look like someone beat me with a whole lotta ugly, sugar.” He turns, but all I see is a beautiful man who finally trusts me enough to not hide behind hair hanging over half his face anymore.

“I don’t see anything wrong with you. You’re perfect.”

“You’re blind. I’m a fucking mess, inside and out. And you? You’re gorgeous, and so sweet, but I think on the inside you’re still a little bit messed up, too, and I’ll only make you worse. We had proof of that a week ago. You deserve better. Youneedbetter.”

“I don’t. I need you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s just wrong for us. Trust me.”

I wonder how long he’s felt this way. I’ve been daydreaming about him more and more. Not to the graphic degree that he described, but in my own way. I’ve been hoping he would kiss me again, now that I know what to expect.

“Ty… do you think I don’t want to be touched? Do you think I don’t wantyouto touch me? Am I disgusting to you?” My voice rises in pitch. “Because of what happened to me? And because of how I reacted the other day?”

“No. None of that. I’m just not the right guy for you.”

He says it right to my face, his beautiful blue eyes drilling into mine, but I don’t think he believes his words any more than I do.

“Isn’t that for me to decide?”

He gives me his lopsided grin. “I’m not the prince on the white horse, Holly. I’m just a fucked-up ugly loser on an old beat-up motorcycle.”

“You’re not any of those things,” I say. “What if youarethe right guy?”

His head shakes again. “I’m not. Not for you. Probably not for anyone.”

Hearing him say that rips my heart apart, and tears spill down my cheeks as my entire body trembles. I start to sob uncontrollably. “Why not?” I beg. “What’s wrong with me? Why do you think something’s wrong with you?”

He stands and pulls me up with him. “Holly… I don’t wantyou getting this upset. Please… no more talking. Come on.” He takes my hand again, and I follow him into the house, where he sets me on the couch, kneels in front of me, and takes off my shoes.

“Lie down,” he whispers, and when I do, he pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and gently places it over me. “You’re beautiful.” His fingers trace the curve of my jaw. “And you’re perfect. You deserve all the love in the world.” His scratchy voice is soft, oddly soothing, caressing my soul and seeping into the deep cracks that threaten to break me. I wish he would let his walls down and let this sweet side show more often. I know in my heart this side is the man he was meant to be.

“I only wantyourlove,” I whisper.

“You have my love,” he whispers back. “It’s just not enough.”

He’s wrong. How could love not be enough?