“What does it matter?”
“You shouldn’t be with him.” His gaze drops to my lips, and it’s like a gentle caress across my skin. Ripples of sensation move through me. Down my mouth and across my collarbone until I shiver. “He’ll never make you feel the way I do.”
“That’s not fair,” I rasp. “Why are you doing this to me? It’s your life that’s keeping us apart. Stop torturing me, Grant.”
His eyes close as if he’s in pain.
“You’re right.”
He starts to walk past me but stops at my side, leaning into my ear. “Just know that my feelings for you haven’t changed. They never will.”
Every hair on my body stands on end. Every nerve ending wakens. He doesn’t say anything else, simply walking away before anyone spots him. I stand alone in a room full of people, growing colder with every step he takes. I watch him for several minutes from across the room.
It’s not long before Chelsea slithers over and drapes herself across his arm. Photographers approach them and snap several photos. From here, they really do play the part well. The L’s power couple cozies up for the cameras. I can see the headlines now. My hands clench into fists.
Watching her. Watching them. It kills me to see her touch him, even if I know it’s all a lie. She makes a laughingstock of him and there’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing he can do.
Some time passes and I’m growing tired of being here. Ryan is off in the bathroom and I decide to grab a breath of fresh air. I need to breathe. Watching Grant with his wife is too much, no matter how fake it is. I’m stepping toward the back hallway that leads to the bathroom and feel a presence behind me.
“Do you want me as much as I want you?” his husky voice asks.
“Not really,” I say. “I want you more.” I turn around and we lock eyes. This one look . . . He has the power to completely undo me. I won’t allow that to happen.
“I asked you earlier not to do this. Not to play games with me, Grant.”
“I’m not trying to play games. This is fucking killing me, Bridget. I need you.”
His words light me on fire, sending heat spilling to every part of my being. I want to hold onto his words desperately, but in this moment, doubt also creeps in.
Jealousy. It creeps up inside me like a vine, feeding on my insecurities. Playing off my fears. It’s hard not to allow it to take over. To not allow it to strangle me. All I can do is tell myself I will not be that person. I will not let it win. He’s not mine to care about. Stop doing this to myself.
“Seeing you with her is killing me.”
He runs his hand through his locks as he stands in front of me. Tall and powerful, his frame towers above me as I move to pass. But he blocks me. Doesn’t allow me to move.
“It’s not real.”
“It doesn’t hurt any less.”
His hand reaches out, the pads of his fingers skimming over my skin. Across my jaw. Running down the hollow of my neck and across my collarbone.
Tracing.
Teasing.
Like a desperate whisper against my heated flesh.
He moves further, caressing the swell of my breast. The curve of my hip.
Lower.
Lower.
Until he’s inches away from touching me.
“She means nothing to me,” he states. “All I see is you, Bridget. All I want is you.”
“Please don’t.” I squirm under his touch, desperate for more. Aching for it.
“I want you. That hasn’t changed.”
“Yet it still can’t happen. So why do this?”
“I can’t help it. This is my fucking life and I want you,” he snarls. “I want to keep you here with me until I’ve had my fill. I want you begging and pleading, and then I want to give you exactly what you want. Only then will I be satisfied, and maybe I can finally kick this damn obsession I have with you.” He says this almost desperately. My chest heaves at his words. “But I can’t,” he finishes in defeat.
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” My voice cracks with emotion and I think he might touch me, breach me. But he pulls away, taking my hand in his instead. Holding it steady. As if it’s the last time he ever will.
“Because I’m a selfish prick. Because I can’t stand the thought of you moving on. Because I’m so fucking lost without you, and the only thing I want to find is a way back to you. Because our kismet meant something. Because we mean something.”
“You’re lost, but I am gone. That’s the difference between us. I’m done, Grant. Done trying. I might never feel the way I do toward you ever again, and it’s breaking me,” I say on a sob.
His hand shoots out to wipe away a stray tear that is freefalling from my cheek. “I’m not your perfect love story. There’s no fairy tale with me. No happy ending will happen for us, Bridget. You have to come to terms with that. So do I.”
His stony eyes have me backing away. “Then stay away from me,” I whisper, allowing one final tear to fall.
With those final words, I leave.
The following day at work, I’m determined to set my mind on being productive. The opening was a huge success from what everyone in the office is saying. I left after my showdown with Grant. I told Ryan I had a headache and left him with Paige and Jared. Luckily, no one pressed the issue. A part of me expected Paige to call and check up on me, but she never did. I’m so thankful she didn’t, because I probably would have broken down. What would I have said? I couldn’t be there anymore.
Even today, I find myself avoiding her. Faking being happy is becoming more difficult by the day. I only have a few short weeks before I leave The L—and my time with Grant—behind for good, so I’ll suck it up. I have no intention of pursuing a career here. I’m not looking to torture myself. I do a good job at staying busy, but every now and then I catch myself thinking about him.
I want to say fuck it. What’s one more night with Grant? To feel his lips on mine again. The truth is, I don’t only want to touch him, I want to heal him. I want to make him less sad, less empty. I can’t, though. I won’t. It’s not my place anymore.
A few hours in, my stomach rumbles. It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent meal. I don’t even want to know how many pounds I’ve lost during this breakup. I decide to head to the corner deli for a sandwich. Just before I reach the main entrance, a lady walks through the door holding Isabella’s hand. I consider hiding, but it’s too late. She sees me.
“Bridget,” the girl says excitedly.
“Hi, Isabella,” I say as she runs into my arms.
The woman introduces herself as Rhonda, the new nanny. “We were in the area and she insisted on coming to see her daddy,” Rhonda explains.
“Hey, munchkin,” Grant says from behind me. I freeze in place, not wanting to see him but knowing there’s no way around it.
“Look who I found. It’s Bridget,” she tells her father with so much happiness it breaks my heart. I turn around in time to see his sad eyes.
“So I see,” he says.
“We’re going to the park. What are you doing?” she asks me, her big brown eyes filled with curiosity.