“Hey,” I say, taking the plate from him and setting it in the sink. I pick up the dish towel and dry his hands then pull him against my chest. He stiffens in my arms. “What’s wrong?” I ask, gently stroking his back.
“Nothing.” He tries to pull away, but I hold him in place while continuing to rub his back.
“You can tell me. I lo…” The word gets caught in my throat. It’s too soon. We’ve only been dating a few weeks. Hell, Evan might not feel what I’m feeling, but I’ve thought those words a hundred times or more in the past couple of weeks.Tell him how you feel,I silently encourage myself. Taking a small step back to put enough space between us so I can look Evan in the eye, I cup his face in my hands.
“I love you, Evan.” His breath hitches and unshed tears sting his eyes. He starts to shake his head. “It’s true. I loveyou. It might seem fast, but I know how I feel,” I tell him honestly.
“Isaac, I…” he trails off, looking everywhere but at me.
“It’s okay if you’re not there yet.” It cuts like a fucking knife, but I don’t want him to say something he doesn’t mean or isn’t ready to admit.
“It’s not that,” he whispers. “I’ve felt the same way since our first date.”
I wait several seconds, maybe even a minute for him to continue, but he doesn’t say more.
“Talk to me,” I all but beg.
“Why?” It’s one simple word with too many possible answers.
“Why what?”
“Why do you love me?”
“What? How can I not love you. You’re funny, smart, honest, selfless, nice, fun to be around, and sexy as hell.”
“No. I’m not those things.”
“You are and so much more.”
I had no idea Evan believed so little in himself. When we tried to have sex a few weeks ago, he freaked out a little. Now I’m wondering if there is more to the story about his ex than he shared with me. I take his hand and lead him to the couch. Cleaning the kitchen can wait. I sit down first then pull Evan down next to me scooting him against my side and wrapping my arms around him.
“Does this have anything to do with your last relationship?”
He tenses in my arms, telling me my guess is right. “It was bad.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I doubt you want to hear what a shit boyfriend I was or how I’ll never measure up.”
“Measure up to what?”
“Whatever expectations you have for me.”
“Evan, I expect you to be exactly who you are. I love you, the Evan I ran into in August, the Evan I took to the beach on our first date, not some version of you I’ve created in my head. I want you.”
“That’s hard for me to believe. Mike told me who to be and every time I thought I was measuring up to his expectations, he’d change his mind and want a different version of me. It was a constant rollercoaster of being the person he told me to be and then failing in his eyes and switching again.”
“That sounds miserable.”
“It was a shitty two years, but I stayed because I didn’t think I deserved anyone better.”
“Hedidn’t think you deserved better.”
“Basically. And he convinced me I wasn’t good enough for anyone else and he was doing me a favor by dating me.”
“That’s seriously messed up.”
“I’m pretty sure he was cheating on me. We hadn’t had sex in more than nine months before we broke up. At first, he made up excuses, but when I got up the nerve to confront him, he said I was terrible in bed, and he couldn’t stand to be with me. Like an idiot, I stayed for months. Sadly, if I hadn’t taken this job, we’d probably still be together.”