“No,” she said, her voice rising. “Of course I’m glad I asked you because everything that happened was amazing, but don’t you see how his comments would make me feel?”

He shook his head, looking thoroughly perplexed. “No. Enlighten me.”

“It just made me feel that Scott was right—I’m good at business and bad at relationships. And all I wanted afterwards was to see you and tell you and commiserate with you as a friend. But can we even do that anymore?”

“You tell me,” he said softly. “Can we?”

A lump formed in her throat. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Can I be your lover and your friend? Because the one thing I wanted when it was over was to see you, and then have you tell me he’s a douche, and that I deserve better, and that he and all the other guys in the world can go fuck off,” she said, dropping her voice an octave or two to imitate him.

“He’s an ass, and you deserve better, and all the other guys in the world can go fuck off,” he said, flashing her a brief smile. Then the corner of his lips dropped, and he furrowed his brow. “Wait. Can we back it up a bit? Did you actually say you had feelings for someone else?”

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. Just do it. “You, obviously, Nate. You,” she said and his eyes seemed to light up for a moment. To sparkle. “But what is this? What are we doing? Are we friends? Are we lovers? Can we even be both?”

He ran his fingers through her hair. The gesture threatened to melt her heart once more for him, because now it felt like how he’d touched her that night in London. It felt like the start of something. She tamped down her desire to climb up on him, straddle him and smother him in kisses that led them back into another reckless night. She had to stop reading so much into the way he touched her. Words mattered more.

“Yes. We can be both,” he said, his voice trailing off. She watched him, waiting as he swallowed. He seemed to struggle with words. “But I don’t want to hurt you,” he added in the softest, most tender voice, as if he was terribly frightened by the possibility.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the sting. A lump rose in her throat. He clearly didn’t want her in the same way. Telling him she had feelings for him was as close as she could come to taking a chance with him, and once again her radar had failed her. They weren’t on the same page. He didn’t want more. He wasn’t ready for all she wanted with him. If he felt the same, if he felt any thing for her he wouldn’t say he was afraid of hurting her.

You’re only afraid of hurting people when there’s an uneven distribution of love.