He thought he’d buried his guilt about his role in the problems Break Up or Make Up had with the city by rationalizing that the whole mess had been sorted out. Everything was fine. He’d even begun to believe he could tell her and they’d joke about it. Right. Like he could joke about his dysfunctional family. How could he have been so stupid? The look she gave him after they’d made love brought back all the guilt and shame, multiplied now by the knowledge he’d taken her to bed when she didn’t really know who he was. Her big brown eyes had been full of trust and, God help him, an emotion he knew was much, much more than mere desire. He was the biggest ass in the city, in the state, if he thought he’d be able to blithely have sex with her without any consequences. Now he had to face it—he was falling for her, and from that look in her eyes, she felt the same way. There was no way around it. He had to tell her what he’d done. Had to get it over with. If she told him to get out of her apartment, out of her life, he’d at least have been kicked to the curb knowing he’d finally been honest with her.
