Page 12 of Mr. Brightside

“I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since I left Clinton’s. I think it’s fate, honestly. I had to figure this out today, and I didn’t know what to do. But then you started talking about your school thing and needing money… it’s like it was meant to be.”

He blows out an exasperated breath, but before I can ask for clarification, he continues.

“I know it’s a lot to process, and we can talk it out and negotiate terms or whatever to make sure we’re on the same page. It won’t be forever, and I won’t give you any trouble when it’s time to go our separate ways. I’ll make it good for you, I swear. I’ll make it worth it. I just need you to say yes.”

I’m—stunned. And unnerved. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Jake talk this much in one sitting. His words were jumbled and left me with two vague takeaways: he wants me to do something for him, and he’s really nervous that I’m going to say no.

I stare at him for a moment, shuffling through the questions in my head. He looks like he’s going to be physically ill.

“Jake, I don’t…”

“Please, Cory. Please don’t say no. If it’s not yes right now, tell me what I can do to change your mind. I’ll give you anything. I’ll do anything you ask. Just please don’t shoot me down.”

Is he—begging? He really does look unseasonably pale. I can’t stand to see him like this. I reach out across the cool countertop and rest my hand on his arm for comfort. He tilts his chin to face me, his hazel puppy dog eyes pleading. The problem is, I still don’t understand the actual question.

“What I was going to say is that I don’t know what you’re asking.”

His eyes grow wider as he works to swallow. He moves to place his free hand on top of mine, and it’s like his touch alone has the power to start a riot in my body. The gesture feels intimate, albeit desperate. At this point, I’m pretty sure he’s not just hoping for a blow job.

“I’m asking you to marry me.”

Chapter 7

Jake

Heyankshishandoff my arm and physically recoils.

Fuckin’ A.

This is so much harder than I expected, and I feel like I’m messing it up further every time I open my mouth. I just droned on for a solid five minutes with vague descriptions of what I actually wanted to say, then blurted out a piss-poor excuse for a proposal.

I’d probably flinch away from me, too.

“This is a joke.”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. The very evident hurt in his eyes makes that clear.

“Cory, no. I swear it’s not.”

“Do you think this is funny? Do you think I’m into humiliation? Is this some form of foreplay for you?”

Foreplay?The tension crackles between us.He’s getting more agitated with every word.

“You invite me over tonight, insist I come right after work, and tell me we can help each other out since you’ve been having a hard time, too.”

I nod. Everything he’s saying is accurate. So why is he…

“You invited me over to hook up, and now you’re playing a prank on me instead?”

Oh.

Fuck.

In all my concern about how this night would play out, I sort of forgot that our original conversation at Clinton’s did involve a good amount of innuendo and eye fucking.

“You thought we were hooking up tonight?” I do my best to use a gentle tone. I can tell he’s already pissed and maybe even a little embarrassed.

“Yes, Jake. You leaned across the bar, got close enough to kiss me, and talked in that low, growly voice. Of course I thought you were inviting me over for sex.”