His perfectly reasonable answer made me feel even worse, instead of relieved. He was helping out a friend and I made the whole thing about me. I nodded and was about to apologize for my incredibly inappropriate behavior when his voice pulled me out of my brooding.

“No. Don’t do that,” he said as he gently tugged on my arm and pulled me inside.

“Do what?” I sounded surly and unhappy, but still let him guide me into his place. He was probably trying to not give our neighbors a front-row seat to whatever it was that we were doing.

“I didn’t cancel with you because you weren’t important.” He closed the door and leaned against it, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. He was wearing his Cornell sweatshirt and loose jeans that looked soft and worn. His locs were hanging halfway down his torso.

His hair always smelled like peppermint and coconut, and more than anything I wanted to get closer, press my nose against his neck.

Instead I stood there, my own arms a mirror image of his.

I’d made a career and a reputation out of being a guy who could own a courtroom, no matter how stressful the situation. Not today. I was sweating, nervous that Patrice would see right through me.

“You could’ve told me you had an emergency. I’m not that fucking self-centered, Patrice.”

He pursed his lips at my words, like he’d bitten into something sour.

“Stop saying shit like that about yourself, Easton,” he said, softer than the words warranted.

His face relaxed and he pushed off the door. My entire body thrummed with the need to take the three steps to where he was. Still I didn’t move. I didn’t want to do anything that would get me on the other side of the door.

Patrice was the only person in my life who constantly made me feel like I was looking in from the outside.

I’d always been an insider; very few doors had ever been closed for me. If there was an insiders club, a VIP section, I always had full access. Not with him. What I got, he allowed; there was not trampling in and assuming I would be welcome.

“I cancelled because I wanted to see you too much.” He shook his head and laughed, but there wasn’t very much humor in it. “I felt guilty that I’d been hurrying home to see you and—”

Waiting for him to cross those few feet between us felt like I was watching him cross an ocean. Once he was there, so close I could lift my hand and tug on his locs, bring him down for a kiss, I still didn’t move.

I wanted him to tell me why.

Why he’d left me hanging after what we’d shared last night.