by Mia Fox
I understand that there is a possibility he’s simply fallen asleep. It happens. It’s a normal human function, akin to getting turned on when you think of someone as hot as Cole in the next room, but I digress. What I don’t get is how he could have not texted this afternoon from his physical therapy appointment. I’ve been to physical therapy before. You lie on a table. They put ice packs on you. Sometimes they stick those annoying little electrodes on you so your muscles spasm uncontrollably. But it’s boring and everyone… everyone sits on their phone to pass the time. What was Cole doing during that time? Not sending me tantalizing little texts about how much he missed me or what he thought of our kiss. Not SnapChatting me a cute selfie telling me what else the kiss made him think about. And there’s no way he could have been sleeping during it or he’d certainly be awake now.
I’m back where I started, but with a new resolve to stop being pathetic. I grab my pillow, fluff it once and then turn it over to puff it up again. I lie my head down. Realize a sip of water is in order, and lean toward my nightstand to retrieve it while being careful not to reach for my phone in the process. Most importantly, I’m not going to think of that kiss.
But the memory of it now makes something stir inside me. It started innocently and then grew more passionate with his hand reaching for my rear. It seemed so natural, just like it used to be between us. The two of us embraced, he couldn’t help his hands drifting to more intimate parts, moving from where they held my arms, then to the small of my lower back, then lowering further down. It was a practiced move that almost made it seem as if those hands were programmed, separate from the rest of him. Those hands sent shivers through me like the flip of a light switch.
I know I wasn’t the only one feeling it. He groaned as he reached for my bottom. I can’t guarantee that it was love. Maybe that emotion is gone, but it was lustful, raw, and wanting. With a hand on each cheek, he pulled me into him. We stumbled for the couch and he easily lifted me onto his lap. Things heated up quickly. He felt it. And then, there was that under-his-breath utterance of “Damn.” One word with so much to say. I swear I detected a mixture of lust along with disapproval, as if he were fighting within himself.
Proving the point came his next words. “I have to get to physical therapy.” He spoke them with his mouth against mine before lifting me off him and setting me aside, next to where he sat on the couch. He gave me one last look, confusion weighing on his mind, and stood to leave.
I wasn’t about to argue, or worse yet, beg. Not when we had made “progress” compared to not being together at all. It showed he still wanted me. But, was it really me or just a need? There was a difference.
Desire is physical. Want is often confused with it… a childish desire, in truth. Children pursue their wants while adults decide if it’s the best course of action, carefully weighing their choices. In spite of our age difference, Cole had always been very adult, and damn it, he was showing it now.
Chapter Five
Cole
I couldn’t be more appreciative of the way Kat kept a vigil by my hospital bed, especially considering the way things ended. It had to be hard on her not knowing if what I said about my feelings for her were real or simply what one says when an angry gunman waves his weapon at you. Regardless of what she knew to be true, she stayed by my side. For an entire month she must have wondered what would happen when I woke up, if I awakened. I can’t ignore that devotion, and now, she’s taking care of me in the aftermath.
But is it fair to her? I can’t forget that she was in danger because of me…because of her feelings for me and mine for her. The gunman’s initial stance was against the education system, but seeing us together set off a deeper anger within him. He was extreme, but there will always be haters and people who will disapprove of us. What happened between us probably shouldn’t have, but it did. Even a coma couldn’t take away those memories. When I woke up, I wanted to go right back to the way things used to be, but another part of me wonders if I was on the right track when I broke up with her.
I’m not going to lie. It’s beyond amazing to be near her like this, but if not for the accident, we would still be apart. I would have stayed away. It’s the best thing for her even if she doesn’t agree. Eventually, she would move on, although I know that I would never forget her. She’s my first love. Because of that love, staying away is the most painful thing I’ve ever done. More pain than when the bullet seared into my chest. More difficult than any amount of training I’ve done to earn my status as an elite athlete.
I’m certainly on dangerous ground now. It’s damn hard to sleep with her in the very next room. Fourteen days. Thirteen nights. I can barely make it through one day. I’ve been awake all night smelling her perfume on my shirt, thinking of her legs wrapped around my waist, my hands cupping her ass…
How could I not think of that ass? She spent the day wearing short shorts, which seemed to ride up even higher on her luscious thighs when she stretched through a yoga sequence in the backyard. It’s not like I was spying. Her kitchen table is positioned to look out the picture window and her workout timed with my breakfast. I was about to take a cold shower when she came back inside and the torture continued when she announced she was headed to the shower. I sat on the couch awaiting my turn, trying desperately to redirect my illicit thoughts. I was nearly successful, but she no sooner exited the bathroom in nothing but a towel.
But the final straw, the action that prompted the largest reaction on my part was when the day ended and we sat close on the sofa, close enough to touch, while watching television. She bent her knees and cradled her legs underneath her. The long t-shirt she wore fell toward her hips, revealing those thighs once more as well as a peek-a-boo of lace from her lingerie underneath and I was helpless to think of anything but what it used to be like to be nestled between her legs, my face buried between them.
So now I continue to think of our day with sleep eluding me. I had a pretty good idea that Kat wasn’t sleeping all that well either. At one point in the night, I heard something bump against the wall as if she turned over with annoyance at still being awake. The thought of her tossing and turning because she might want me, made me a tad bit happy in an arrogant and mischievous bastard sort of way, but I couldn’t let myself succumb.
I stayed in my bed, willing sleep to take me. I drifted off at some point, but dreamed of making love to Kat and by morning, you could have hung a flag off my pole. At the first light, I got out of bed and made my way down the hall to the bathroom. Perhaps brushing my teeth and showering would wash away my desire. If not, I was damned for the rest of the day.
As I left the bathroom, she emerged from her room. Her eyes drifted over my exposed torso and down to where a bulge still protruded for her. She immediately lifted her eyes, but it was too late. I saw the desire in them and it made mine even stronger. The sexual tension between us was too strong. Without uttering a word, an entire conversation took place in our glances. I made the ‘come here’ gesture with my index finger and she followed me back to my room.
Chapter Six
Kat
Damn foolish heart. Stop pounding. It’s not like you haven’t been with a man before. It’s not even like you haven’t been with Cole. But it means so much. Too much, in fact. To me, it’s love. And if I fall again, it’s all my fault. He stayed away from me last night. He was using his brain when he put distance between us on the couch. And then I have to go and give him that look first thing in the morning. I couldn’t even wait for a caffeine jolt to plant some sense into me.
Shit. Who am I fooling? I didn’t give him the look. I gave it to his… well, never mind. I stared without shame and he saw me. Of course he was going to react at that point. I guess he got more sleep than I did last night. If his display of desire this morning is leftover from last night, he’s damn strong to remain in his room all night. As usual, his brain was talking to him, telling him to play it safe, while mine was complete mush.
I spent the entire ni
ght overthinking the day and then thinking even more about him. While he was at physical therapy yesterday, I hit a ballet class. I videoed part of our routine and later when I checked my phone and still hadn’t heard from him, I naturally opened the app and saw that he had watched my Snap.
Dance was normally a way to ward off any anxiety. It hadn’t worked. I was still just as pent up, both from being turned on by Cole earlier with no release in sight and from the gymnastics my brain engaged in all night.
Finally, around 1 a.m. and with immense determination, I silenced my phone, plugged it into the charger, and turned it over so that I would no longer be tempted to check it. I had to prove to myself that I had a little self-respect. I fluffed the pillows determined to fall asleep, but I only managed to bang my left arm against the wall as I rolled onto my right side. My funny bone throbbed in the most non-amusing way.
I was forced to turn onto my right side — the side I had avoided falling asleep on since last year. In truth, it was how I used to prefer falling asleep, but ever since we were together, sleeping on my right side came with memories. Silly, girlish, wishful ones.
If I was being observed by one of those sleep studies the technician probably wouldn’t think anything of my avoiding sleeping on my right side, and yet there was so much reason behind it. It was the position I slept in when I used to be with Cole. He always preferred to be on the left side of the bed if one were facing it. I would climb in next to him and also lie on my left, positioning my back to his front and take comfort in our closeness. Within a moment, the feel of his hardness would press against my back and persuade me to turn over onto my right side. My leg would lift over his waist, gluing us together right where it counted. Being next to him like that brought more comfort than a year of lazy Sunday afternoons. Last night, I still clung to the memory of when I slept that way, spooning with him, and then so much more, for three delicious days, almost exactly one year ago.
One reason why our separation came with so much angst was the escalation of our relationship leading up to it. We had gone away with Jack and another teammate for a three-day weekend after enduring a time share lecture.
The overnight experience — being together at night, breakfast the next day, and sleeping with Cole was the sweetest experience. And I do mean sleeping, not sex. It was somehow even more intimate. Anyone can get together for a quick romp, but after it’s over, all too often you’re left alone — sometimes before one even returns to bed from the bathroom. But not with Cole. Coiling my body next to his for those nights fed my memory for months afterwards.
In spite of trying to forget what Cole and I had together after we broke up, I never wanted to fully lose the memory of that one weekend. I thought of it often while he lay sleeping in the hospital, imagining the way I had slept with him just as peacefully.
The four of us were promised two hotel rooms — one for me and one for the three guys. However, there was a mix up at the hotel and considering that the entire weekend was comped by the time share, we didn’t have room to argue especially since the hotel was overbooked. The solution was to accept one room with two double beds. It didn’t matter, we reasoned. Jack had two blow-up mattresses still in his car from a camping trip. The hitch in our plan arose when we discovered a leak in one of the blow-ups midway through the first night.
Jack was nursing a strained back so the guys agreed he got a bed. Since I was a woman, they were gallant and guaranteed me one as well. That left one blow-up and two guys. Cole and I looked at each other and knew what the other was thinking. He gave the blow-up to his teammate, joking that he would “put up with me.” We had always had a familiarity, even around Jack, so he didn’t question it. Jack agreed that it made sense to bunk with me since I was smaller than he. I think he just didn’t want to share his space. Besides, he never imagined anything would be between Cole and I — or he never admitted that idea, even to himself.
In a double bed there wasn’t much room for two, even had we wanted it. The result was our legs touching, our backs against each other, or our faces within kissing distance. All. Night. Long.
It was a sweet torture. We couldn’t fathom doing anything with two other people within spitting distance. At least that’s how we felt on the first night.
In the morning, while everyone slowly organized themselves with showering and dressing, we pretended to play a game with each other on our phones. Yet, while we took turns in the game, we also took turns texting. It was the only way to say what we really thought. The idea of a long shower was mentioned as a way to fix the fact that we were both turned on having spent the entire night practically on top of each other, but unable to act on it. Yet, we couldn’t even act on that out of politeness to the others who wanted hot water.
Memories of that weekend had become my angst as well as my happiness. I had been intimate with him many times before that weekend, but nothing compared to the intimacy of sleeping with him all night without anything more happening. Nothing was as special as the simple and sweet kiss he placed on my forehead to wake me before anyone else invaded the darkened hours of the early morning. It felt like love. It was just a kiss, but the way he did it, made it unforgettable. It was soft and gentle. His lips lingered on my skin as if he tried to take in my scent and commit it to memory. It was as if he wanted to stay in that moment as much as I did.
“Just say it.” My voice was barely a whisper in the early dawn, my eyes meeting his in the dim light. He looked back at me with longing and intention. His mouth opened as if he were about to speak, but then he shook his head only to close it into a tight line while closing his eyes as well, seemingly to fight his own emotions. “Cole, please. I’m here; I want to hear it.”
His response was to indicate Jack and his friend, but I was becoming bold. Their deep breathing made me want to steal these moments for whatever purpose and so I whispered back, “We went to sleep late. They’re completely out.” But he shook his head and put a finger to my lips, finally silencing me with a kiss. It worked to a degree. He didn’t speak about how he felt about me, or more specifically, to confirm that he felt what I did. The kiss was enough to distract me from that mission.
In spite of how much I wanted to talk about us, instinct took over. My need for his physical touch satiated my desire to hear his verbal affirmation of love. If this was all he was willing to give, I would take it when it was offered. It sounded terribly needy and pathetic even to my own mind. Hell, if a girlfriend of mine was to tell this story, I would tell her to move on. Nobody needs a guy who won’t commit. But that’s where bravado ended and falsehoods started. I did need him. And, I would take him in any manner that he was willing to give of himself. Love can be stupid. How does one argue with their own heart? I may have been a teacher, but I certainly hadn’t learned that lesson.
When he touched me in that early dawn, regardless of how tired we were, our bodies sprang to life. His hands moved over me with familiarity, knowing just what I liked. It struck me as surprising at the time that my relationship with my ex-husband had lasted years, and yet he didn’t know me the way Cole did.
All I had to do was lie on my side with my back towards him and he would cup one of my cheeks. His hand would then climb upwards, leaving my intimate space to a comforting position on the small of my back. Gently, he slid his hand over my skin. He didn’t rush to the main event. He offered me these tiny shows of affection. When I wanted more, I simply spooned my body closer to him, placing my bottom firmly against his crotch where I relished in the feel of his masculine hardness against my backside. He would drape his arm over my waist and let his hand find my breast. And that’s just how he would stay in those early hours of morning. He cupped my breast, holding me in this familiar lovers only way, until we both fell back into a peaceful sleep.
When we returned home from that weekend, the memories of it were powerful for both of us. For me, it made me want to solidify our relationship and live the way couples do. To him, it reaffirmed that we would always have to hid
e our feelings. Those three days may have seemed like the beginning of something more, but it was a falsehood. Our relationship began to fall apart. He insisted it wasn’t love and I needed to move on without him.
Later, in the midst of tragedy, he reaffirmed his love and told me that the words he used to push me away were just a lie he uttered to protect me. Even today, I fear that the truth is somewhere in between.
I’ve tried to put the trauma of the attack out of my mind, rightly so. But I haven’t allowed myself to think of those three days of happiness in the hotel either. With Cole now staying at my house, it’s a reminder of both. Could I let my heart feel something for him again?
Seeing him crook his finger at me and invite me into his bed without so much as one word being spoken set my heart beating erratically. I had thought about sneaking into his bed all night, but didn’t dare for fear of being rejected or simply out of concern for his health. I was supposed to be looking after him, but I don’t think the doctor meant it like this.
Naturally, my mind wandered to that memorable weekend, or more specifically the euphoric high I felt. I was careful to reminded myself of the horrifying low when we broke up. My mind vacillated between both extremes of emotion and memory as I slid into bed next to him now.
