“Don’t you dare touch me!” she hisses. Anger vibrates from every cell of her body. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so enraged.
“Mia, give me a chance to explain!”
When she attempts to jerk her arm from my hold, my grip tightens on her.
“If you don’t let me go,” she growls, “I’ll scream.”
Fuck.
No matter how much I want to tell my side of the story, I can’t force her to listen. Reluctantly, I release her arm. I’m almost taken aback by the fury and disgust swirling through her eyes.
“It’s not what it looked like.” My heart slams harshly against my ribcage until it feels like it might explode.
A humorless laugh falls from her mouth. “Really? Because it looked like Dr. Hayes was moments away from giving you a blowie.”
I wince as her voice increases in decibel with each syllable. A few people walking past turn and stare with curiosity.
“She asked me to stop by her office so we could go over my paper.” My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. “Everything was fine and then she was on her knees.”
“And you didn’t push her away?” Her brows jerk up with disbelief.
“It all happened so fast.” I plow a hand through my hair.
“You sat there and let her touch you,” she accuses.
“No!” I shake my head. “I—”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, wishing she would calm down and give me a chance to explain. My thoughts are all jumbled together and I’m not making sense. It looks like I have something to hide when nothing could be further from the truth. “I tried to tell you that she was hitting on me.”
“Yes,” she snorts, “it really looked like she was forcing herself on you.”
“Maybe it didn’t look that way, but that’s exactly what happened!”
She searches my eyes for a long moment before shaking her head. “I don’t believe you.”
My shoulders collapse in defeat. I’m not sure what more I can say to make her understand the situation. When Mia retreats, it feels like there is a yawning chasm sitting between us. Reaching her no longer feels possible.
I take a hesitant step in her direction, only wanting to bridge the growing distance between us. “Mia, I said that I would never hurt you and I meant it.”
“I’m such an idiot for believing in you.” Tears well in her eyes. “You’re no better than my father.”
Her words are like poisonous darts that slice into my flesh. All I’ve tried to do is prove that I’m not the guy I used to be, and I’ve failed.
“You know that’s not true,” I murmur through the pain that blooms in my heart.
What could I have done differently?
I wasn’t lying when I said it all happened so fast. For a moment, it had felt like I was paralyzed, powerless to stop her from touching me. For a guy my size, it’s ridiculous that I couldn’t stop a tiny woman from laying her hands on me.
Shame and guilt bubble up inside, nearly swallowing me whole.
“I can’t do this with you,” she says, interrupting the thoughts that churn in my head, “I need to go.”
When I reach out, she backs further away as if she can’t stand the thought of me touching her.
“Please, don’t leave like this.” It feels like Mia is slipping through my fingers and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it. “Can we talk later?”
She shakes her head and straightens her shoulders. “No, you’ve hurt me for the last time.”
Before I can say anything else, she spins away and heads for the walking path that cuts through campus. Instead of going after her, I remain rooted in place. Chasing Mia will only push her further away.
I plow a hand through my hair, knowing there might not be a way to fix this.
I might have lost the only girl who ever really mattered to me.
Chapter Thirty-One
Mia
I hop out of my Jeep and smooth down my skirt before hurrying into El Toro, a popular Mexican restaurant in town. Under normal circumstances, this is one of my favorite places to eat. The chicken enchiladas are to die for.
But today?
I don’t really have much of an appetite.
Mom drove down so we could have lunch together. It’s been a couple of days since Dad dropped his bomb, and I’ve been checking in to make sure she’s doing all right.
So far, so good.
As I arrive at the hostess stand, I see Mom has already been seated at the back of the restaurant near the window. There’s a huge margarita sitting in front of her. When the hostess leads me to the table, I give Mom a quick hug before settling on the chair across from her.
“Hi, sweetie,” she says. Her gaze drifts over my floral-colored blouse and red skirt. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. You do, too.” I’m relieved to see that she hasn’t fallen apart. I was worried she would be dressed in sweats. Not that I would blame her. Instead, she’s looking fashionable in a black knee-length skirt and a pale pink blouse. Diamond earrings drip from her ears and a matching tennis bracelet is wrapped around her wrist. Her black Chanel Jumbo Flap Bag sits on the table next to the window.