"Yeah."
"How can you ask me to open myself up to you when we're divorcing in a week?"
His fingers trail down my arms. "Because you want to."
His voice gets shaky. It's not like him.
He's right, but it's not like him.
"I'll tell you." I lean in to his touch. "If you'll remind me of something from last night. In detail."
"You first."
I press my lips together. "It's hard to explain. I've always been the smart one. Anne, my sister, she's the pretty one. The fun one. The popular one. She was the cheerleader. I was on the debate team."
"Did that bother you?"
"I don't mind people complimenting her looks and my intellect. Looks have never been important to me."
"You're fucking beautiful."
"You don't have to say that."
"You really think I say shit just because it's expected of me."
Actually, yes. I pull back enough to look Joel in the eyes. "You didn't flirt with that fan because it was what she expected?"
"Not exactly."
"But close?"
He stares back at me. "I'm not bullshitting you, Bella. You're gorgeous."
"Thank you."
"And fucking hot. But I can't get into that or I won't have any blood left in my brain."
My cheeks flush. "You really—"
"Yeah, and if you ask again, I'm going to have to prove it."
God, the intensity of his expression. I believe him.
And I'm tempted to ask him to prove it.
But then this conversation is important.
I shouldn't let him derail it with sex. Even if I really, really want to.
"I don't mind that I'm not the pretty one," I say. "But being the smart one is a lot to live up to. Everyone expects me to succeed. They expect me to follow this path they've set for me. If I step off it, if I fail…" I take a deep breath. This is too close to everything that hurts. "I have to be great at everything."
"Is that what you want or what everyone else expects of you?"
/> "Both."
He drags his fingertips over my forearm. "You don't try shit if you might fail?"
"I don't think about it like that."