Page 77 of The Frog Prince
“Mmm.”
“And…?”
Another shrug. “We didn’t click.”
“She used you.” The words just popped out of my mouth, and I don’t know why or how, but I look at him, make a face. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I used her, too.”
I feel my eyebrows climb.
“She does have an incredible body.” His look is pointed, and I feel small on the inside, small and insignificant because I can’t compete on this level. I will never, ever be the chick with the hot bod.
Brian flashes me a humorous smile. “You asked.”
“I wish I hadn’t.” And it’s a struggle to get the rest of my pizza crust down without gagging. I’d give my right arm to have half what Olivia has. Olivia is smart, worldly, sophisticated. She’s tough, has attitude, doesn’t get stepped on, does the stepping instead.
That’s power.
That’s something I don’t have and don’t think I ever will.
We carry our wineglasses to the living room and the little table I’ve set up in the corner, awaiting my new desktop. “So what kind of computer did you buy?” Brian asks, hunkering down in front of the boxes lying on the floor. He’s so big, he makes the table and chair shrink. Even the computer box looks small.
“I’m not sure. But the price was good,” I say, stepping around him.
“Women,” he mutters, but gently, teasingly, as he tears open the box containing the new hard drive.
For the next fifteen minutes he attaches cords and plugs in things, connecting the various components until he boots the computer, and magic—there’s sound and color. Action. He hits a few keys, registers me, and boom, I’m ready to go. “You’re connected, online, free to surf the Net, shop, whatever your heart desires.”
Whatever my heart desires. If only I knew what my heart desires.
“Thanks so much,” I say, collecting all the plastic bags and bits of Styrofoam and empty cardboard boxes that protected the computer, screen, and keyboard.
“Piece a cake.”
“Well, for you, maybe.”
“It’s easy. But I’m glad I could help.” He reaches for me, pulls me down on his lap. “I like helping you.”
“You do?”
“I missed you today.”
“You did?”
He nods, smoothes my hair. “I think about you a lot.”
And I think about him, but not like this. I like him, but I’m not sure what I feel. I’m not sure about anything. Brian is everything good and kind and wonderful, but I’m still so numb on the inside, still so scared about everything.
Brian hands me my half-empty wineglass. “Finish,” he says.
I take a few halfhearted sips, and his head lowers. I know he’s going to kiss me, and I know that I’m not ready to be kissed. Not by him. Not by anyone. His lips touch mine, and I try to relax, try to let the fear and tension go, but I can’t. I can’t get past the hurt and the hint of panic, can’t get past the feeling that I’m Goldilocks trying to find the right porridge, the right bed. Nothing feels comfortable inside me yet. And even Brian Fadden, who is smart and clever, thoughtful and helpful, isn’t what I need.
At least not yet.
As his kiss starts to deepen, I put my hand on his chest and gently but firmly push him back. “Brian.”
He looks down at me, says nothing.