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Chapter 15

"Are you serious right now?" he says, staring at me like I've just insulted his entire existence.

"She's thirteen," he adds, incredulity dripping from every syllable. The irony in his voice stings more than it should.

"So?" I shoot back, defensively.

"So... not to sound cocky, but there are hundreds of teenage girls who have a crush on me, Ashley. She's a kid. She'll get over it." He sounds frustrated now, disappointed—and that frustrates me, because he doesn't understand. He hasn't heard her. He isn't her mother.

I must look like I'm seconds from breaking because he softens only slightly before continuing.

"You probably think I'm some inconsiderate asshole who doesn't care about your daughter, but that's not the case. I just know how this goes. She'll see me a couple of times, obsess a little, then move on. Teenagers are all-in until something shinier shows up. That's how they are."

"You don't know her, Harry," I say quietly. "You haven't heard the things she's said about you. If I had known how deep it ran, I never would have..."

"What?" he cuts in, voice turning sharp. "Slept with me? Fucked me?"

He's being a jerk now, pushing me toward a version of this story that only serves his pain. I shake my head slowly. That's not what it was for me—not even close.

"If all I wanted was sex," I say, my voice low but firm, "I wouldn't have waited five years. There have been others, Harry—suitors, opportunities—but I never acted on any of it. And then you came along. This twenty-one-year-old who threw my whole world off course."

He quiets, and I can tell I've hit something in him.

"What?" he asks again, softer this time. "Is that all it was to you?"

"No," I say immediately. "I don't know what it was exactly, but it wasn't just about sex. Yes, it happened fast. Ten days—barely—but that doesn't make it meaningless. And if your ego needs a little boost, yes... the sex was amazing, too."

I look down, unable to face those piercing green eyes for a second longer.

"Ashley..." His voice gentles as he steps closer. He lifts my chin with one finger, making me look at him. "It was amazing because it was with you."

I blink back the sudden sting in my eyes.

"You always say the perfect thing," I whisper. "But you don't want to see the reality."

"This is exhausting," he exhales, rubbing at his forehead. "God, it's exhausting."

"What's the truth then?" I ask, already knowing what's coming.

"It's simple," he says, and the way he's looking at me cuts right through my walls. "I like you. You like me—even if you don't want to. I crave you, and I know you crave me too, but you won't let yourself want this."

I stay silent, barely breathing.

"You finally gave in, we shared something real, and now you're running because your daughter has a poster of me on her wall. Because a thirteen-year-old has a crush. You're letting that be the reason to throw this away."

"It's not just a crush," I say, but the conviction isn't there anymore. "You didn't hear her—how she talked about you. I can't just—"

"Can't what?" he snaps. "Be honest? Or admit that maybe—just maybe—you're terrified, and this gives you a tidy excuse to retreat into that safe little world you've built?"

I don't respond. I can't. Because he's not wrong.

"It's convenient," he finishes, and this time the word cuts deeper than it should.