Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

I shook my head, hating that he would think that. “Never, Michael.”

“But you were leaving?” He strode into the room, crossing his arms over his chest. I tried not to be distracted by all the beauty that was him, but it wasn’t easy. My body was still strung taut with unfulfilled desire.

I took a step back, knocking over one of my shoes. I glanced down at them and back up at Michael to find him glaring at me in utter disappointment. “I … I thought it would be better if I weren’t here in the morning.”

“Why?” he asked. “Because you know that I know now without a doubt you love

me?”

Panic thickened my throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” Michael demanded again.

Shaking my head frantically, I wanted to escape. Bending down, I reached for my shoes, but Michael grabbed my arms. I cried out as he pulled me up, his face a mask of fury.

“Tell me,” he said as he shook me gently. “Because if you run out of here without explaining this shit to me … give me the truth, Dahlia.” He let me go, and I could still feel the heat of his hands banded around my biceps. “I want the real reason we can’t be together. If you don’t give me that, then what I feel for you … it’ll turn. It’ll twist, and it’ll darken, and it won’t be love anymore.”

The thought of Michael not loving me was breath-stealing.

“Tell me,” he begged.

“You won’t understand …”

“Then make me!”

I stumbled backward, falling rather than sitting down onto his couch. “Do you remember?” I whispered. “Do you remember that day with Dillon? I try not to … but it’s one of the most vivid memories I have …”

Ugh, my palms were sweating, I was so goddamn nervous.

“Just do it,” Michael urged beside me. We were sitting in his car outside my place, and we were about to execute our plan to tell Dillon the truth about our feelings for each other. That Michael and I were going to be together.

I’d decided I would be the one to tell my little sister, so the plan was to call her and tell her I needed to talk, ask her where she wanted to meet, and then Michael would discreetly drop me off.

While I was car-less after mine got relegated to the junkyard, my sister had a beat-up little banger she drove so I knew she could meet me anywhere.

Taking strength from Michael’s reassuring expression, I dialed Dillon’s number. “Christ, my heart is beating so fast, and I’m only calling to arrange a meet,” I whispered.

He squeezed my hand, and I threaded my fingers through his. My sister and I would probably have a temporary falling-out over this, but once she realized how deeply I felt for Michael, we’d be fine.

This wasn’t some stupid fling.

One day—and I knew it to be true—I’d be the mother of Michael Sullivan’s kids.

“Hey!” Dillon picked up.

“H-hey,” I stuttered, surprised because I’d been caught in my own Michael musings. “Where are you?”

“Driving home.”

I sighed. “You’re not supposed to answer your cell when you’re driving.”

“I am a multitasker. You know this.”

Hearing the sweet cheerfulness in her voice, I hated myself for what I was about to do. “Listen, Dill, we need to talk. Do you want to meet somewhere?” I didn’t want to do it at home where Mom could butt her nose in.

“You sound serious. What is it?”

“Let’s meet up face to face.”