CASEY
He stopped, took a deep breath.
"I don't know. Maybe you're right."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
He met my eyes, and it almost broke me, the sadness in his expression, the worn edge to his voice. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I've been trying too hard. Maybe I'm fighting a battle you don't even want me to win."
"Sebastian…" My voice cracked.
"I don't think you're that into me, to be honest," he said.
His words didn't carry blame. Just resignation. Like he had finally read the truth in all the things I hadn't said out loud. My throat closed up.
"What are you saying?" I asked quietly.
He took a deep breath again and said,
"I'm just telling the truth. I don't think you like me," he said, eyes on the glass of wine he was holding.
I blinked at him, confused by the sudden turn.
"I like you, Sebastian. That's why I'm here with you right now. I like you," I repeated, slower, firmer.
