“Absolutely right?” he interrupted. His eyes softened, and Ashlyn swore she saw livid green melt into blue pools of comfort, his thumb swiping over her cheekbone to match as he cupped her jaw. Blue. All she saw was fucking blue. “You’re grasping at anything you can to push me away. You’re pushing me away because you’ve never felt love like this—you’ve never loved anyone else like this before and it terrifies you. Believe me, I know the feeling.”
“Don’t do that, don’t spin this on me,” she replied shakily, shoving his hand away from her face. It would only take exactly three seconds for her lips to be pressed against his if she let him continue to touch her. Ashlyn knew it, and she sure as hell knew Harry knew it too.
“I’m not spinning anything on you,” he spat, mood suddenly shifting into one of annoyance, one that Ashlyn despised.
“Yeah, you are.” She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring Harry’s constant pacing up and down the wooden floorboards. Every time she heard one creak, she felt her heart become a little weaker. “Don’t act like I didn’t fucking fight for you, that’s all I did for months.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’m not saying you didn’t, Ashlyn,” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. It was greasy and unkempt, completely unusual for someone like Harry who normally had his hair in a perfect mess of disarray.