But still I do. “Are you sure?” I whisper. “You can stay.”
Brigs stares right at me—into me—and in his eyes I see a painful battle being fought.
“I have to go,” he says again, louder this time, as if he’s trying to convince someone else.
Now what?
“Okay,” I tell him. “You know I’m drunk, right? What I sent you…just file that under Tasha Being Drunk and we’ll be okay.” Suddenly some sober part of me wakes up, tapping me on the shoulder, yelling in my ear. I can’t ignore it. “I still have a job, right? I mean, I still want to work for you, and I promise I won’t kiss you anymore.”
Brigs gives me a half-hearted smile that seems more pained than anything else.
“You have a job for as long as you want it,” he says kindly.
“And the kissing you part?”
He nods quickly, looking away. “I’ll chalk it up to you being drunk and we’ll pretend it never happened.”
And even though that hurts to hear, to erase that beautiful moment, I’m relieved. I smile at him and awkwardly stick out my hand.
“Okay then, that’s great,” I tell him. “Thanks for coming by.”
He slowly arches a brow but puts his hand in mine and gives it a squeeze. He lets go and turns to open the door. Then he pauses and looks over his shoulder.
“You know,” he says. “Drunk or not, I can read you like a book, and I can’t say that about a lot of people. Not because you wear your heart on your sleeve, because you, my dear, don’t. I can only say that because I know a lot about you and I’m lucky enough to be one of the ones you share your true self with.” He pauses. “I hope that after tonight you don’t stop that.”
I swallow. “Even though my true self may kiss you inappropriately?”
“Even though,” he says with a nod. He opens the door and looks back. “See you on Monday.”
The door closes with a click that sounds too foreboding for this tiny flat. I exhale loudly and lean against the door, just as the bathroom door opens. My roommate totters across to her room without even looking my way.
As if I’m not here.
As if none of that ever happened.
But I know it did.
I can still feel his lips on mine.
CHAPTER NINE
Natasha
London
Present Day
“I don’t want to disappoint fate.”
I keep reading the line over and over again, refusing to let it sink in, refusing to let it get to me.
With anyone else, any suitor, I would have chalked it up to a lack of imagination or trying too hard in the Lord Byron department. But from the mouth—if not the keypad—of Brigs McGregor, I know how much it means.
Brigs was never one to believe in destiny or fate or anything he believed was out of our control. Even when our brief affair went from hidden to acknowledged, he thought he was in the driver’s seat every step of the way.
And I let him think that.
I let him because he was the one with the most to lose. He was the one with the wife he knew he had to leave. He was the one with the son he kept putting before himself, even when it hurt them both.
Fate was never an option.
But for him to think it’s the force that put us in each other’s path, that says a lot.
And to be honest, I’m looking for every single excuse not to stay away.
I go to sleep and I see his face from four years ago, his eyes wracked with this strange purpose, this truth he believed, that when it was love, it was simple and pure and good.
And then I see it morph into the face I know now, the one laden with guilt and sorrow and hate.
I’m the cause of both of those faces. How strange to be the one to ruin a man in two different ways and so completely.
How terribly, horribly strange.
And so it takes me a few days to come to terms with it, and when I finally embrace the fact that I want to see him, I feel the darkness slipping off my shoulders.
It feels more right than wrong.
“Ready to go out?” Melissa asks, making me jump.
I’ve been sitting on my bed, and I quickly close the app and put my phone away before she comes in. She’s been awfully nosy lately, asking me if I’ve seen or heard from Brigs. Until recently, I wasn’t lying when I’d said no.
Honestly, I wish she wouldn’t worry about this so much—it’s my life and I can take care of myself, no matter what kind of setbacks I’ve had. I know she’s just concerned that I’m going to backslide, but at the same time I can’t hide from him.
And I won’t.
“I’m coming,” I tell her, not wanting to hit the pub scene tonight, but she’s insisting since it’s Friday. She says I need to get laid like no one’s business.
Well, that part is true. Aside from a drunken, sloppy one-night stand in France, when I was trying everything to purge Brigs from my system, I haven’t been with anyone. Even before I met Brigs, it had been a few months since I’d last been with a guy—some jerk from my class. I don’t even want to count how long I’ve been celibate—it’s far too pathetic.
I get up and quickly look myself over in the mirror, my mind flitting to Brigs. I wonder if he’s been with anyone since the night of the accident. I assumed he would have found someone. He might even be with someone right now. There was nothing in his email that suggests he wants to pursue me, just that he needs to set things right. And I get that. Even though it terrifies me, I think closure is what the two of us both need. To shut the lid on the past, move on with our lives, and never look back.