*Slow updates*| currently editing heavily.
He needs the spotlight. She wants to disappear. What happens when they're forced to collide?
***
After an injury nearly derailed his basketball career, UCLA senior Charlie Murtaugh has one last shot at go...
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Of course, my first thought is to call bullshit — because beautiful isn't a word I'd ever use to describe myself.
And of course, hearing it from family members or friends doesn't count. As much as I think my friends are God's gift to the earth, I can't say the same about myself. I don't believe it when they say I'm beautiful — not really. Not in the way that sticks.
So it's not surprising that the first thing that flashes through my mind as I stare at Charlie is:
Liar.
I suppose I should be glad. Glad that the one person who has seen me in my most vulnerable state — naked, undone, no armor or mask — is telling me he found me beautiful before any of the lust or passion came into play.
But insecurities are a bitch — sharp-clawed and persistent, lodged deep beneath the skin, whispering cruel things from inside my bones.
"You don't have to lie to me out of some misguided responsibility because we had sex, Charlie." I try to say it jokingly, but I'm looking everywhere but at him. Because I mean it. Especially since the only times I've ever felt even remotely beautiful... were with him.
My eyes flick to his face, just long enough to catch it — the look. Confusion.
No — hurt. And it twists something in my belly that I can't name.
Just like that, the air shifts. The warmth between us chills. Only one thing rings in my head now:
I shouldn't have said that.
****
Soon enough, we're pulling up in front of my apartment complex. The sky's dipped into a soft orange glow. It's beautiful and wasted on the silence sitting between us.
Charlie is still distant — thanks to me. He tries, bless him. Makes an effort to fill the quiet with polite conversation. But I can tell his heart isn't in it. Every time he nods instead of speaking, it feels like another pin in my chest.
Can I blame him?
No. I'm the one who messed it up.
I don't know how to fix it, but I know I can't let him leave thinking I meant what I said. Not really.
But are we even parting ways? He did say "again." Did he mean today? Tomorrow? Do I invite him up? Do I say goodnight?
God, all these questions.
"Lor?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?" Charlie's voice is gentle, concerned. He's parked now, and he's watching me.
"Wow," I say, trying to tease, "that's the longest sentence you've said to me in the past hour." I flash him a half-hearted smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks—" I glance out the window. "I guess this is me." Duh. I turn back to him, suddenly not ready to leave. Not yet. "Well, um... thanks for the food. I'll see you when you decide you want to talk to me again. Or have sex with me again. Whichever comes first."
