Hurt the One You Love Read online

  "He lied to me, over and over. To your mother. Probably to every other woman he ever was with," Molly whispered harshly into his ear. She clutched at his back, fingers scrabbling loosely before she let him go. "Don't you be that man, Elliott."

  "I don't want to be." He clung to her for a moment longer, then let her go.

  "Then don't." She nodded firmly, as though that solved the matter. Maybe to her it did. "And if you did, go to her right now and apologize."

  "I didn't lie to her." Elliott sat back. "I don't even really know her."

  "But you like her." He said nothing at first, and Molly shook her finger at him again. "Is that what you lied to her about?"

  When he didn't answer her, Molly gave him another of those vivid, piercing looks. "Or maybe it was yourself you lied to, honey. Yes?"

  Yes, Elliott thought, but didn't say it out loud. He reached for her hand and held it between both of his. He sat with her until her eyes closed and she fell asleep.

  Then he sat there for a little while longer.

  Chapter 15

  Only Aidan would call her so fucking early, and only he would keep calling until she answered. Simone had been dumb enough to leave her phone off the charging dock, which meant that the calls came through instead of being kept on silent. Muttering a string of curses, she pressed her pillow to her head, but even though it muffled the sound at least a little, there was no more sleep for her.

  "What?" She barked into the phone at last.

  "Simone?"

  Shit. Not Aidan. Elliott? She sat up in bed, the blankets twisted around her tight enough to keep her from being able to prop herself up all the way. She fought against them, finally untangling herself from the blankets enough to sit cross-legged, the phone tucked against her ear.

  "You're an early riser," she said.

  "Simone. It's ten-thirty."

  "On a Sunday," she told him. "What kind of person gets up at ten-thirty on a freaking Sunday?"

  "I've been up since six-thirty," Elliott said.

  "Ugh." Simone fell back onto the pillows. "Why?"

  Another pause. "Because I always do."

  "Well. You should get out of that habit. It's disgusting." She grinned, snuggling deeper into the covers.

  "I like getting up early. Gives me so much more time to do stuff."

  "On a Sunday. Like what. Go to church?"

  "I don't go to church. Do you?" He asked.

  Simone laughed. "Do I impress you as the sort of girl who goes to church?"

  "You impress me as the sort of girl who does whatever she wants."

  "Well, anyway, I'm Jewish," she told him. "Bet you didn't guess that."

  "No."

  There came a soft huff, maybe laughter. Maybe a sigh. Simone listened carefully and couldn't figure out which. It didn't really matter.

  "Does that matter?" She asked him. Sometimes, it did.

  Another sound, this time sounding surprised. "No! Does it matter to you?"

  "Nope."

  Silence, though it wasn't awkward. At least not too much. Simone listened to the sound of Elliott's breathing and waited for him to say whatever it was that had been so important that he'd needed to call her before noon on a Sunday.

  "So . . . Simone," he said finally.

  "Yessss?" She drew out the word, letting it linger. Dropping her voice.

  "Listen," Elliott said, but then didn't speak for another whole minute.

  She watched the numbers turn on the clock, so she knew exactly how long it was.

  "About what happened," he said. Then nothing else.

  "You know, for a guy who's supposed to be such a wheeler-dealer, you certainly aren't a very smooth talker."

  He laughed. That was good. She pictured him scrubbing at his face. Mussing his hair. No, he wouldn't do that. Even if he were still in bed, she’d bet he'd have perfect hair.

  "I can talk."

  "Oh, I'm sure you can spin a tale when you have to. But this casual conversation stuff, man. You kind of suck."

  "I'm trying to tell you something, if you'd just listen!"

  "I'm listening," Simone said quietly. "I'm listening, Elliott."

  "What you said in my office. About me liking to hurt the women I fuck. It's not true."

  She didn't contradict him. She waited. He breathed.

  "I like to make you feel good."

  "You did, honey." The endearment slipped out of her. "Really good. I told you, I like . . ."

  "I know what you said."

  "Elliott. Do you think I'm the sort of girl who'd tell you I like something when I don't?"

  "No. I guess not."

  "You're not used to women who tell you the truth, huh?"

  He paused. "It's not that. I don't usually ask, that's all. I don't see them more than once or twice, remember?"

  So he did have a sense of humor. Dry and self-deprecating, but there was nothing wrong with that. In fact, she liked it. A lot.

  "I like you," she told him suddenly. She wanted to tell him she'd liked him for awhile, but as with the scones and everything else, that would mean she'd have to own up to her Peeping Tina tendencies. She waited, but he didn't say anything. Simone sighed. "Now would be the perfect time to tell me that you like me, too."

  He sighed into the phone with enough force that he'd have ruffled her hair if they'd been together in person rather than talking on the phone. Simone rolled her eyes, trying not to let it hurt her feelings. Reminding herself that he'd called her, and there had to be a reason, if only she could be patient enough to let him get to it.

  "I don't think we should see each other again. That's all."

  Simone had never been a patient sort of girl. "You woke me up on a Sunday morning to tell me that you don't think we should see each other again?"

  "I wanted to let you know."

  "So you wouldn't be rude?"

  "Yes. That's part of it," Elliott said.

  Simone chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. "What's the other part?"

  "I don't want you coming to my office again."

  Everything inside her went cold. Then hot. Then cold again.

  "I see."

  "It's not you," Elliott said finally.

  "No. It's you. Definitely you."

  There came a long silence in which she was certain he would disconnect the call. Simone sat with the phone pressed to her ear until he did, without even a good-bye, trying to pretend this didn't matter. Trying to tell herself it was better to know, no matter how hard it had been to hear.

  It was always better to know.

  Chapter 16

  Elliott hated to run, but it was one of the few things he'd managed to hang on to from his high school days, when he hadn't been athletic or competitive enough to play team sports. Track and field had allowed him to compete and be part of something, yet hadn't been necessary for him to rely on someone else to perform. Or to have someone else rely on him.

  So, he ran even though he hated it, and he ran hard until everything ached, and then he went home and ran the shower icy cold until the stars at the edges of his vision had stopped dancing and he was sure he wasn't going to pass out. Then he turned the water slowly to warm. Then hot.

  He'd seen Simone in the lobby of the building two days ago. She'd looked right at him. Then past him, those brilliant blue eyes gliding over him without so much as a blink of recognition. He might as well have been a stranger for all the attention she'd paid.

  He was a stranger, that was the thing. The fact they'd fucked didn't change that. The food she'd brought him, the easy way she had about her, the way she'd kept managing to make him laugh when he wasn't expecting it . . . none of that mattered. It didn't make them know each other.

  And he had put a stop to any chance they'd have of getting to know each other, too. He'd been an idiot about it. Calling her up, telling her that he didn't want to see her again. He wouldn't have done it, except that Simone had proven to be the sort of woman who wouldn't simply wait for him to call, and wh