“I didn’t realize you’d turned into Miss Cleo overnight.” He looked deep into her eyes. Comprehension spread slowly across his face. He took a slow breath. “You won’t even give us a shot. Why? What are you hiding from? What are you scared of?”
She glared at him. “How long are you in Vegas? A day? A week?”
He flinched. “A few more days.”
“It’s not enough to start anything, and you know it.”
“It’s not much,” he admitted. His brow wrinkled. “But I’m not going to deploy again for a few months.” He let go of her arms, and reached up to finger a lock of her hair. His knuckles grazed her neck, igniting hot tremors. His eyes gentled. “Erica…”
“No.” She steeled herself. “Where are you stationed?”
“Camp Pendleton. In California.”
“So…five hours away? Give or take.”
“About.” He let go of her hair and brushed a finger across her cheek. “Some might call that driving distance.”
“Not people who work a seventy-hour week.”
“Then we could fly. Meet up halfway.”
“That might work,” she managed. “But most people can’t make a long-distance relationship like that work. What makes you think we could?”
He dropped his hand. “What makes you think we couldn’t?”
She tensed. This was the part where she was supposed to open up to him. Trust him with her secrets, and believe he wouldn’t run away from her in disgust. She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a despairing sound.
She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She shook her head. “Maybe I should take you back to the hotel. We can say goodbye as friends. It’s better that way.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you really want?”
What did she want? Not this. Not this struggle to keep him at arm’s length. But taking a chance on him, allowing him into her life, had seemed foolish last night—and downright moronic by the light of day. She needed to stick with the original plan. Move on and forget him. She didn’t need a man in her life to be happy. Didn’t need anyone. Didn’t need him.
She was fine on her own.
She shrugged. “Yeah. I guess. We’d never work. You’re my brother’s friend. I mean, look at us. It would be…weird.”
He drew back as if she’d slapped him, and swallowed heavily. “Okay. Let me grab my clothes, and I’ll call a cab.”
Let him go, she told herself, but her self wasn’t listening very well. The way his shoulders deflated, the way he refused to look at her…it broke her heart in two. He still thought he wasn’t good enough for her. It was in every line of his body, his face, his eyes. How could she explain? How could she make him understand that it wasn’t because she didn’t want him, but because he wouldn’t want her? He wouldn’t want what she’d become.
And he wouldn’t want the hell that came with pretending to still love her.
He tried to twist past her. She grabbed his arm. His gaze dropped to her hand, then jerked to her face. His eyes were blazing, smoky and hot.
“Jeremy. It’s not you. It’s—”
He tugged free of her grip. “Spare me the most famous break-up line in history. We were never together. I don’t need it.”
Damn it, she wasn’t ready for this. Not now. Not any more than she had been seven years ago, when her only reasons had been her own naïveté and stupidity. “No! It’s true. I’m…I’m not the relationship type. I can’t commit to this. To you.”
“Operative words being ‘to you.’” He gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. “To me. Say what you really mean, Erica. You can’t commit to a guy who grew up on the streets. A guy whose father is a murderer. A tattooed loser with no future outside the military. Your parents never liked me. They’d never let you get away with dating someone like me. I get it. I do. So you don’t have to fucking lie.”
“I’m not lying!” Her eyes stung. “I just don’t want a boyfriend. Is that so wrong?”
“No. It’s not. What is wrong is denying yourself just because you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.” Her cheeks heated. Not scared? She was terrified. Everyone had their insecurities, and he was treading far too close to hers. “It’s none of your business, but no, I don’t say no because of who you are. It never bothered me before. Why should it now?”