The Imperfections

“If it worked out between us, yes.” Still defensive, she refuses to look at me as she stabs more pieces of scrambled egg. “I warned you that you were going to think it was crazy.”

“Why didn’t you think it was crazy?” I ask without giving it proper thought.

Her eyes widen. “I did! But then you said all these things I liked, and before I knew it…it started to sound really good. You didn’t agree to all that irrevocably. All we settled on was being together right now and not telling anyone about it while we test the waters. The marriage and babies stuff was only if it worked out and we wanted to be together, because you keep saying there’s no way. There is a way, it’s just…”

“Crazy,” I finish for her.

She looks at her plate instead of me, but she frowns. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long and I know the circumstances make it a little crazier, but the idea of you marrying me if you liked me enough isn’t that crazy. You said yourself, it’s not like women are lined up on your 30-mile-long driveway waiting to marry you. You keep to yourself and you get lonely,” she states, her tone a little harsher since I’ve pissed her off. “You like me, your dog likes me, I’d make a damn good wife—you’d be lucky to have me.”

Since I’ve obviously bruised her feelings a bit, I nod my head once in quiet agreement. “I’m not arguing any of that. You’ll make some man very happy someday.”

After several seconds, she says quietly, “Just not you.”

Even though I know she’ll think it’s mean no matter how gently I say it, I can’t bring myself to give her false hope. “Just not me,” I confirm.

She doesn’t say anything for the longest time. She doesn’t take another bite, either. Finally, her chair scrapes hard wood as she pushes it back and stands, grabs her plate, and hauls it over to the sink.

“You didn’t finish your breakfast,” I point out as she dumps her remaining eggs.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she tells me, rinsing the dish off in the sink and leaving it. “You can do your own dishes. I want to go home.”

I hate hurting her feelings, and I wish I hadn’t filled her with all these false hopes about a future we can never have. I can’t believe I did that. I don’t know if the whiskey had me that far gone or the sex was that good, but something must have possessed me to say such things to her.

Maybe it was self-loathing, because now that I practically proposed to her last night and told her I’d never marry her today, she’s going to despise me, and knowing that makes me miserable.

Probably better that way, I guess. If nothing else, it should make staying away from her easier, knowing even if I gave in to a moment of weakness and showed up in her room again, she’d probably kick me in the balls before she’d ever bring that pretty little mouth near them again.

“I’m really sorry, Alyssa.”

“I don’t care, Brant,” she states before turning and leaving me alone in the kitchen.

12

Brant

When Sunday rolls around and I have a day off, I don’t know what to do with it. Normally I’d hang out at home, take Scout for a hike, maybe work in my shop a little bit, but this weekend, all that stuff I’d normally do reminds me of Alyssa since she was along for the ride last weekend.

I figure it’s best I don’t think about her since she hates my guts now.

When I took her home after trying to let her down easy at breakfast, she didn’t say a word to me on the long ride back to her house. When I pulled into her driveway, she climbed out of my truck without a peep and walked right out of my life without looking back.

I know that’s for the best; I was starting to like her too much. Still, it’s put me in a bad mood and I don’t like my own company as much as I usually do, so I give Bri a call and ask what they’re up to today. I damn sure don’t want to see Theo, but I haven’t had a chance to spend time with my sister since before all of this started, and I need the reminder of why I can’t have Alyssa in my bed since she clearly wants to be there.

Well, wanted to be there, but she’s soft enough I could probably make it up to her and get her to want that again if I tried. In particularly lonely moments as I struggled to sleep last night, I fantasized about just that—saying fuck it, taking on the big commitment, and going all in with her.