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“Just… shut up for a second.”
I lean against the wall, making a show of zipping my lips before crossing my arms. Like a good boy. Which I’m not, but hey, I can play along when I want to.
Her fingers twist together as she paces in front of me. “I… I’m not good at this.” Her hands flutter. “The whole…”
My lips twitch, but I maintain my silence. Christ, she’s adorable when she’s struggling to find words. A tiny, angry cupcake with murder sprinkles.
“Stop looking at me like that. This is hard enough without you—” She gestures at my face, “doing that.”
I arch an eyebrow, channeling my best ‘who, me?’ expression, while inside, my heart’s doing backflips. She’s actually trying. Really trying.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
I nod slightly, feeling my dimples deepen. Can’t help it. She brings them out like butter brings out flavor.
“Asshole.” She resumes pacing. “I’m trying to apologize here.”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter. I want to grab her, kiss her, tell her it’s okay. But no. She needs to do this. We need this.
“Fine. You know what? Never mind. I take it back. All of it. The kiss, the?—”
She barely makes it a step before I catch her wrist and guide her between my legs.
Watching Naomi try to express her feelings is like watching a temperamental chocolate soufflé rise at precisely 347 degrees. One draft of cold air, one slam of the oven door, and the whole thing deflates into an expensive puddle of cocoa and regret.
I know this is hard for her, but please.
My thumb finds her pulse point, tracing circles over the flutter beneath.
“That’s cheating,” she says.
I shrug, holding her gaze. Everything about her calls to me, the slight tremble in her voice, the way she’s trying so hard to be brave. My fierce little cupcake.
“I…” She swallows hard. “I’m sorry. For pushing you away. For running. For—fuck, Brandon, say something.”
“Why?” My voice comes out rough. “You’re doing so well.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” My fingers trail up her arm, counting the goosebumps rising in their wake. “Keep going.”
“You’re seriously going to make me do this?”
Another shrug, but I let my eyes show her how serious I am. How much I need this.
“Fine.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for making you think you weren’t enough. You were—are more than enough. I just… I got scared.”
“And?” My heart’s going crazy.
“What are you, five?”
My hand slides up to cup her neck, thumb brushing her jaw. “And?”
“And I’m sorry for making this harder than it needed to be.” The words tumble out faster now. “I’m sorry for using the safeword to avoid dealing with my shit. For not trusting you enough. For making us both miserable because I couldn’t handle?—”
“Handle what?” Come on. Say it. Please.
“How much I…” Her throat works. “How much I need you.”

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