“Intense?” I blurt out and turn to watch his reaction.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard and licks his lips in agreement. His fiery grey eyes are showing me prowling Hayden again. But it’s as if he’s holding back. Like he’s putting that lion in its cage. “I just…I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“What wrong idea do you mean?”
“I’m not in a good enough place to be with anyone right now. I’ve worked my arse off to get here and can’t have anything messing about my recovery.” He pauses as his eyes cloud over for a moment. “But also, I have a very nasty track record of friends with benefits. I won’t go down that road again, Vi.”
The friends with benefits line feels like a jab right to my stomach. That’s not once what I ever hoped for between us. To be frank, I’m not sure what I hoped for. And after the look in his eyes after our kiss, when he said “thank you” and took off, I suspected he simply didn’t feel the kiss the same way I did.
“So I would be a distraction?” I ask, still trying to figure him out. He smiles and runs his hands over his messy hazel blond hair. It’s disheveled in that perfect way that my hands itch to tangle through.
“Yes, Vi. That is exactly what you’d be. A beautiful, bright, bubbly, blonde distraction.”
“That’s a lot of B’s.” I grimace at his characterisation of me. Is that really all he sees in me? My heart continues to sink further and further.
“I know I asked you to help me with my countdown challenge, but I think it’s a bad idea,” he says before I have more time to consider what he said about me.
“What do you mean?” I stop walking and cross my arms over my chest to look him in the eyes.
He gazes at me like it’s harder to speak now than it was before. “After last night…I just…I can’t go through with it. Not with you. I’ll find someone else.”
“No!” I exclaim, feeling a bit brassed off over his description of me. I’m determined to change it. I’m a great deal more than those B words he used to describe me. “I don’t want you to find anybody else. I want to be the person.”
He shakes his head and looks away. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” I reach out for his arm so he looks at me. “Hayden, I’m not some meek little ditz. I may look like it, but I’m not. I was raised by my father and am surrounded by four football-playing brothers. They are all bossy, obnoxious men who like to butt their noses in my life whenever the mood strikes them. Believe me when I tell you, if I’m strong enough to handle the lot of them, I’m strong enough to handle this.”
He looks somewhat intrigued. “Should I be afraid these brothers are going to hunt me down?”
“Yes,” I nod truthfully. Especially if you never kiss me like that again, I want to say. “Seriously, are you quite strong? You might want to start doing more cardio. Running specifically.”
His chest rumbles with laughter. “You have to promise me that if it ever gets to be too much, you’ll tell me. We end it, straight away. No hurt feelings. I don’t want to hurt you, Vi.”
“Piece of cake,” I reply with a simple shrug.
FULL CIRCLE MOMENT
What did I just commit to? Doing this countdown challenge that Doc suggested with Vi is going to be bloody painful. But shite do I want to prove it to myself that I can do it. Maybe there’s even a part of me that wants to prove it to Vi as well. Either that or I’m thinking if I dump all my issues on her it’ll help prevent me from wanting to pursue her. Or better yet, her wanting to pursue me.
I don’t need a love interest right now. I just need to stay clean and focused. Yes, that kiss was fucking memorable to say the least. Yes, I spent most of the night thinking that in another life I would have drug her up to her flat, peeled that dress off her slim body, and made sure every bare curve and flat surface was touched by my lips.
Deep breaths, Hayden. Deep breaths.
But I stayed strong. I stayed the course. Because I’m not weak anymore. And I’m doing this countdown challenge one way or another.
I’m relieved when we decide there’s no time like the present to dive in. Delaying our visits would only make it easier for me to find excuses to get out of it. She suggests we run back to her place first to grab Bruce so we can go sit at a nearby dog park to talk. I’m both dreading and ready for this first “countdown confession.” It will be very telling what kind of person Vi is and how strong I am in my recovery to openly discuss this with a new acquaintance.
As we approach her flat, a younger Italian-looking bloke with a backpack of gardening gear stands waiting at her alley entrance.
“Hey, Vincent! Sorry I’m late,” Vi calls, speeding up her pace toward her door.
“No problem, Miss Harris,” he says as I watch his eyes linger on her exposed torso and drift down her legs.