Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(73)
Author: Leisa Rayven

He leaves, and even though the room is full of people chattering and laughing, all I can focus on is the absolute silence surrounding Holt. He takes several mouthfuls of beer and pretends to look at something across the room, but I can see that his eyes are glazed and unfocused. He’s not looking at something as much as he’s trying not to look at me. I squirm because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, what he’s about to say.

“You slept with him, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t sound angry, or even hurt. Just … resigned.

When I don’t answer, he looks at me, and I can see that he’s struggling to hold in everything he’s feeling. His lips are pressed together and hard, and my heart is pounding so loudly I can hear it in my ears.

“Ethan…”

“Just tell me, Cassie. I’m not going to make a scene. I just need to know.”

“You already know.”

He huffs in frustration. “I need to hear you say it.”

I take a deep breath and push down a wave of nausea. “Yes. We slept together.”

He blinks but doesn’t stop staring at me. “When?”

“You know when.”

“After graduation.”

“Yes.”

“Straight after I left.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Three months.”

“Three months?!” He laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “Three fucking…” He nods and takes another swig of beer, his expression intense. “So you two were … what? In a relationship? Dating?”

“No. I mean … kind of. He wanted to, but I just … I couldn’t. I didn’t feel that way about him. It was just sex.”

He laughs again, and he’s looking everywhere else but at me.

“Ethan … I was angry and hurting. He was there. You weren’t.”

He swallows more beer, his jaw clenching and releasing.

“You can’t be upset with me for something that happened after you left. That’s not fair.”

“I know,” he says, his voice low. “I know I shouldn’t want to smash in Connor’s fucking face, but … Jesus, Cassie, three months?!”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before looking at me.

“I know you were with other men after I left,” he says. “I overheard you and Tristan talking about it the night I came to your apartment. And as much as it fucking killed me to hear that, I coped by telling myself they were just nameless, faceless guys. One-night stands that fulfilled some urge for you. That didn’t mean anything—”

“They didn’t mean anything. Nothing has meant anything for longer than I can remember.”

“Connor meant something.”

“No.”

“Cassie, you can’t tell me you had sex with him for three months without it meaning something. It’s one thing to fuck someone you pick up in a bar and never see again. It’s another thing to have sex with someone you care about. At the very least, he was your friend, so you had to have some feelings for him.”

“Obviously whatever I felt for him wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough for me after you.”

When he looks at me, I can tell he’s angry. But beneath the anger is hurt, so deep and raw that I can’t look him in the eyes, because his pain echoes inside of me.

“Do you think I don’t know this is my fault?” he asks as he leans forward. “I know that, all right? And it fucking kills me. And what’s worse is that I could have lost you to someone like Connor. Someone who would never treat you the way I did.”

I glance over to where Connor is across the room. He’s looking at Holt and me with concern. He can tell that we’re fighting.

Holt is shifting from one foot to the other, struggling to stay in control.

I don’t know what to say to him. His jealousy is pointless. It always was. As if he’s ever had anything to be truly jealous of.

“Why couldn’t you make it work with him?” he asks and places his beer bottle on the bench next to us before looking at his feet. “You said he wanted more. Why didn’t you?”

“I’ve asked myself that question so many times, I’ve lost count.”

“And what’s the answer?”

I take a breath. “I don’t know. Connor thinks he never had a chance with me because I was still in love with you.”

He searches my face, then licks his lips before asking, “And what do you think?”

I fight to keep my voice steady. “I think he’s probably right.”

He looks at me for a long time, the wheels of his brain processing my words, noting I’d said “was” in love. Not admitting to how I’m feeling now.

I pray he doesn’t ask me, because I know I can’t say it. Not yet. That would be like cutting open my chest and handing over my heart all over again, and I’m not anywhere near ready to do that.

“So where does that leave us?” he asks, his brow furrowed. “Judging by the way Connor was looking at you, if you said one word to him, he’d walk out of here with you right now.”

“And would you let him?”

He stares at me for long seconds before answering. “If that’s what you wanted. If you thought he could make you happier than I could.”

I take in an unsteady breath and put my hand on his chest, the first voluntary contact I’ve made for days. He blinks in surprise.

“So, if I said I didn’t want you, and didn’t love you, and needed Connor in my life instead of you, you’d stop fighting for me? You’d just … let me go?”

He tightens his jaw and places his hand over mine before pressing it into his chest. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d be lying.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Yes, I would.”

Suddenly his hands are on my face, and before I can even get out one word to protest that we’re in a room full of people, he’s kissing me. My breath catches as his lips move gently against mine, and I’m so devastated by the sensation that I cease to care that Connor, and Marco, and members of the Broadway press club are standing around us.

My stomach coils and flips as he tilts my head and kisses me deeper, his breath loud and shallow as he half groans, half sighs into my mouth. His hands are on my face and my neck, pulling me closer and stroking me in a way that makes me lose track of time and place and just melt into him as if we’re two highly combustible chemical compounds that ignite when they come in contact.