I don’t say anything and when he grips my chin and brings my face toward his, he cocks his head to the side.

His large, warm hand on my face makes my skin tingle. I used to love his hands on my face. He’d hold it when he’d kissed me. Stroked my cheeks. Wiped my tears. It used to be my weakness and evidently it still was because my knees buckle slightly. “Whitney, what’s going on? Why… just why?”

I pull away from his grasp and take a step back. “He said he was sorry… it was a mistake and that it wouldn’t happen again.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I need more than that. What happened? And how do you know it’s not happening wherever he is right now?”

The thought had crossed my mind, but I was choosing to trust him. “It was earlier in our relationship. We’d only been together about three months. I ended it for a little bit and he begged, groveled, he sent flowers, cards and gifts.” I wave a hand toward him as if to say et cetera. “You get it, I took him back on a trial run.” I chuckle. “He became this perfect guy. It truly was just a stupid drunken mistake. He was in Vegas. Bachelor party. You know how it is.”

“Can’t say that I do. I went to three bachelor parties while we were together and I distinctly remember demanding nudes from you every four hours. So don’t hand me that drunk mistake bullshit because I could have been so drunk I didn’t remember my own name, but I damn sure always knew yours.” My heart flutters at his words and I shake my head trying to rid myself of the high that my entire body feels hearing his words. “So okay, you took him back, you forgave him. How long after that did he propose?”

“Ummm we’ve been together about a year and a half total. So, it’s been a little over a year since that happened?”

“He slept with her?”

I nod.

I notice that he balls his hands into a fist and anger flashes over his features. “You deserve better than that. Better than this.”

“What’s better…? You? Is that where you’re going with this?”

“Yes, Whitney I am. You know it and I know it.” I was not expecting him to say that. He pins me with a stare, his blue eyes boring into mine and I feel like I’m frozen in this spot. I lick my lips, and his eyes trace them before he lets out a groan.

“Stop doing that.”

“Sorry.”

“Fucking hell, Whitney. You’re giving me all the signals. The lip biting, and the playing with your hair and just the way you’re fucking looking at me. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

His words are biting and his tone is harsh and I feel them all over my skin. He rubs his beard and I clasp my hands together so I don’t reach up and run my fingertips over his sharp jaw.