by Sara Hubbard
“Because no one is perfect. But we all try to be. Doesn’t everyone?”
“You’re pretty fucking close.”
“Shut up.” I prod him with my other foot.
He winks at me.
“But you can go on if you want…” I say, grinning at him.
He needles the bottom of my foot, and the firm pressure releases tension, not just in my feet, but causes a wave of calm to travel up my legs and torso. I almost go limp. “I’m going to fall asleep if you keep doing that.”
He doesn’t stop.
“I thought we were going to watch a movie.”
He shrugs. “We could. But this is fine, too.”
And it really is. “Tell me about you.”
“Not much to tell.”
“Lies. Talk to me about your family. I’m so curious. Your dad’s a fisherman and your stepmom’s an author? That’s kind of exciting.”
He shrugs. “Not really. She sits at a desk most of the time. It’s a pretty solitary profession.”
“You said she was pushy, but you never said how.” Though I’ve already come to my own conclusions.
His hands needle me a little firmer, and I stifle a yawn. The more pressure the better.
“She just tries real hard, and sometimes it’s too much. She wants to be the mother I lost, and she won’t ever be. I’m not sure she accepts that.”
I caress his leg, picking up on the hint of sadness in his voice. “I’m sure she loves you. She likely wants to be there because your mom can’t be. You can’t fault her for that. She came into your life when you were still really young.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He looks out the window.
He continues massaging my feet. I should move on. If he wants to talk more about this, he will. But it’s not my way. My mom says, “I’m like a dog with a bone.” I open my mouth and snap it shut. The struggle inside of me is real. He forces a smile, as if understanding my need to know and also my need to respect what is likely a truly sensitive subject. “Caring for her isn’t a betrayal against your mom. You can like her, too.”
“That’s not why I keep her at a distance. Like I said before, I’d rather limit the number of people I get attached to.”
And yet, he allowed himself to fall for Chloe. I try not to let that bother me, but it stings. She didn’t deserve it. Maybe I don’t either, but I want to. “Including me,” I say softly.
He nods, his gaze holding mine.
“I’m scared, too. I’m afraid I’ll screw things up. I’ve always wanted to be someone’s ‘person.’ You know, that one person they can’t live without. The person they love best. So far, people have claimed it’s true, but it’s never been the case.”
He grins. “You’re full of cheese.”
I pout but then turn it into a smile. “I know! It’s awful. I’m a hopeless romantic. God, if that doesn’t make you run for the hills, I don’t know what will. Me going on about soul mates.” I shake my head and groan at myself.
“I almost hope what you believe isn’t true. Because to find that one person”—he holds up a finger—“the one you love the best... If you were to lose them? Then what? How do you come to terms with that?” He casts his eyes downward.
“I guess I’d rather have it and lose it then never experience it at all.”
His hands stop working my foot, and his Adam’s apple bobs. He slides his hand up my leg, back and forth, his rough fingers sending chills down my spine. “Would you say that still if you lost someone like I did? Someone you loved best?”
My heart splinters into a million pieces. He’s talking about his mom. I want to get up and pull him into a hug and tell him it’s okay, but I hesitate. He wants me, I know it, but he’s still deciding on whether or not he’ll give me his heart. I understand. I sympathize with him, but it also makes me hold back. I can’t give him all of me unless he gives me all of him right back.
“I’d like to think I would, but I don’t know,” I say softly.
“Hmm.”
“I don’t know what will happen between us,” I add, “but if we try this”—I motion back and forth between us—“slow is okay. In fact, slow is probably better.”
He squeezes my leg. “Does that mean no sex?”
“Oh, God, I hope not,” I say, earning me a hearty laugh.
“All right, enough about my family. It’s your turn.”
“You haven’t told me anything about your dad or your brothers.”
“My dad’s a fisherman and thinks of himself as an amateur brewer. My brothers both fish with my dad—my stepmom bought them a boat few years back—and my youngest brother, Seth, has a kid with a woman who he should marry but she won’t have him. That’s it.”
“Why won’t she have him?”
He shakes his head. “You really don’t give up, do you?” He’s grinning so he can complain all he wants. He doesn’t hate it.
I fold my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow to implore him to continue.
“Okay...since you asked so nicely. They were eighteen when she got pregnant, and he didn’t take it well. He took off for a bit, and when he came back and realized he’d been an ass, she was already over him.”
“He left her?”
He frowns at me. “It’s your turn now.”
I release a long breath through pursed lips. I still have so many questions, but he was patient when I asked mine so I have to relent. “Well, this could take a while.”
He looks over at the clock on his nightstand. “I have all night.”
“You asked for it.”
He listens intently while I tell him about my mom and dad, his eyes focused on my face, and he hangs on every word I say, like I’m the most interesting person he’s ever met. It’s easy to unload everything on him, not just because he seems to want it, but because of the way he listens. He makes me feel important.
“Are they still together?” he asks.
I scoff at that. “No, absolutely not. Who knows how many women he cheated with.”
“And you think she knew?”
I nod, my heart sinking, like it always does when I have to accept my parents are flawed. No one likes doing that. You want to believe your parents are heroes, and when you first realize they aren’t, you see them in a new light. It steals away part of your youth and innocence. “She didn’t care. My dad had a really good job managing a factory, and she didn’t want for anything. She was a stay at home mom, but she was involved in the community. People envied my parents. They thought we had it all. I guess she liked the illusion they presented.”
“And you judge her for that?”
“Frigging right. She allowed it to happen by ignoring it. There were always signs, but it was only when a friend of hers caught them and told her that she couldn’t ignore it anymore. I told her to have some self-respect and leave him. She almost didn’t. She wished she could go back to suspecting but not knowing for sure.”
“I take it you and your mom aren’t close.”
I shake my head. “Good guess. We weren’t close before all that. My parents were always really…for lack of a better word, perfect. Everything had to be just so, or maybe that was my mom. I don’t even know anymore. She never had a hair out of place, never had a wrinkle in her clothes or a mess in her house.”
“I’m a little surprised. You’re so far from that.”
“Exactly. We never got along. She thinks I’m a mess, and it frustrates her.”
His hand moves up my foot to gently slide up and down my calf. It doesn’t feel sexual, but supportive and sympathetic.
“I guess that’s why I am the way I am. Always looking for attention in all the wrong places.” I raise my brows and smile. “It’s okay, though. I had Charlie and her family. Whenever I was down or upset and my mom would tell me there were bigger things in life to get upset about and to get over it, Charlie’s Mom and Gran would always be there to hug me and welcome me.”
“Do you still talk to your dad?”
>
“My dad gets busy. We talk, but he’s more messed up than I am. Third marriage and counting.”
“Did you forgive him for what he did to your mom?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“But not your mom?”
I eye him for seeing through me. I don’t want him to because it’s like looking at myself in a mirror. “You don’t know her. She’s so cold. I swear to God I’m someone she feels obligated to have a relationship with. I’m not someone she loves.”
“Word of advice?”
“No.”
He lightly punches my thigh, and I squeal and pull away. “That hurt!”
“I meant for it to.” He leans forward and looks me dead in the eyes. “I’d give anything to hear my mom’s voice again, let alone talk to her. Don’t leave stuff unsaid in case you never get the chance to say them.”
I want to be angry with him, but the tortured look on his sad face and the hollow look in those bright blue eyes softens me. Inside of scowling back at him like I’d normally do for unwanted advice concerning my parents, I lean forward, wrap my arms around his neck, and pull him in tight.
“Ugh…” he says, with a chuckle. “That wasn’t the reaction I thought I’d get.”
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
“Um...why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”
I lean away to look him straight in the eye. “I’ll give her a chance if you do the same with your stepmom.”
“Maybe.”
“Then maybe I will, too.”
After taking a deep breath, I turn my face into his neck. His musky scent is intoxicating, and his warmth cradles me like a blanket. His arms slowly close around my shoulders, and he pulls me toward him so my bum scoots closer, near his knees. “I’m sorry you lost your mom,” I whisper.
“Me, too.”
“I’m glad I met you,” I say. “I never thought something good could come out getting my heart broken, but here you are.”
His fingertips skim my shoulders as they travel up my neck and finally to my face. I loosen my grip, and my hands fall to my side. With his face inches from mine, he studies me, his eyes roaming over my eyes first and then my cheeks and lips. I hold my breath, feeling suddenly shy. This is it. Our first real kiss. My stomach flutters with excitement and nervous energy. When he inches forward, I close my eyes, and he presses his soft, full lips to my cheek. I turn my head and rest it against his shoulder as he lets out a strangled breath.
I can’t do it. Why can’t I just do it? I know the answer. Fear. But, damn, I want to so badly. Kissing him and feeling him naked against me would satisfy a growing itch inside my body. So when he covers the back of my hair with his hand and strokes my hair I dive in. My will power is so thin it might as well be transparent. I kiss him hard on the lips and let out a low moan that originates from somewhere deep inside me. He kisses me back just as hungrily, tasting my lips and tongue and responding with his own strangled cry. When we break apart, I stare at his shirt, desperately wanting to pull it up and off of him. I close my eyes and take a breath to calm myself and my raging hormones. “This is such a bad idea.”
“The worst,” he agrees, before grabbing my ass and guiding my small body into his waiting, and very hard, lap. He kisses me hungrily, as if he can’t get his fill until he breaks away again, this time gasping. With closed eyes, he tilts his head forward, and I rest my forehead against his. His ragged breaths match my own. What am I doing? He wants me, maybe even a relationship, but he’s not ready to give me his heart. So how can I risk giving him mine? And there’s still the small matter of his ex-girlfriend who he admittedly loved. I can’t help but be jealous of that and to worry if it leaves any room in his heart for me.
But, damn, this feels too good to be so bad.
“Do you still love Chloe?”
When his eyes open I touch his face and stare into their depths.
“The only girl I can think about now is you.” He lets out a low growl. It’s the sound of frustration, and I refrain from making it myself. He adjusts himself underneath me, his cock pressing hard into my sweet spot where all of my blood seems to be concentrating.
“I want to believe that.”
“Please, believe it,” he says.
“I just... It’s still early. You just broke up with Chloe.” And you’re still unsure.
He mutters a curse. “We can wait. But maybe just grind on me a minute more. Like you mean it?”
I laugh, my body shaking against his.
“Or laugh, that works, too.”
I slap his shoulder and capture his lower lip between mine, tugging gently as I pull away.
“Killing me,” he says with a groan.
“I just need to be sure I’m not a rebound.”
“I promise you’re not, but we can wait.”
“Thank you.” It means a lot to me that he’s being patient. I rise on my knees and swing my leg over him so I sit by his side against the window. The moonlight streams in and highlights the white lint on my jeans.
He cups his groin and starts moving his package around, his face all scrunched up like he’s in pain.
“Are blue balls a real thing?”
“Hell, yeah. I’d rather you take out my kneecaps with a baseball bat.”
“Hmm. They don’t really turn blue, though, do they?”
He unzips his zipper. “That’s better.” He catches me looking. “Want a peek?”
“No,” I say, rather quickly even though I wouldn’t mind a peek.
This is new. Some things I could talk about with boyfriends, but some things I couldn’t. And because we’re friends, it feels like nothing is taboo between us. With guys before, I didn’t want to seem foolish or ignorant. I wanted to stay sexy to them. To look like I knew what I was doing. With Michael, I can say whatever the hell comes to my mind at the exact moment that it does. He doesn’t seem to mind. He might even enjoy it. This is one of the benefits of a guy friend. I tip my head to the side and sigh. All the blood between my legs has already begun to redirect to the place it came from. A small yawn leaves my lips, and I nuzzle his shoulder. His T-shirt is soft, and it smells like fabric softener. I feel his lips touch my forehead as my eyes grow sleepy. And just as I’m about to tell him I should go, my lids close and I fall asleep.
Chapter 16
I didn’t dream last night. Most nights when I’m able to sleep, I dream and I remember. The last couple of weeks, those dreams have centered around me being in situations where I lose control, like getting lost in a maze or falling down a dark, deep tunnel. It’s nice not to wake still feeling tired and restless. And it’s nice to wake with a solid, strong arm around me.
Michael and I slept the whole night in the window seat with me cradled against his chest, his arms protectively around me. I lift my head along his T-shirt and look at his peaceful face. My breathing is in sync with his as his lips pucker and close with each inhalation and exhalation.
The sun is up and shines in brightly. I narrow my eyes to block out the glare. But I don’t mind the sun. It warms my body. Where his body and the sun aren’t touching me, I’m frozen.
“Michael?” I say quietly.
He moans but doesn’t open his eyes. I wait for him to wake, but after twenty minutes, I feel he could be a while. Though I’m content to lie against him in the window seat, I need to get back to the dorm and get ready for school. Carefully, I try to unwrap his arms from my upper body.
“Hey,” he says, his voice gravelly.
“I have to go.”
He sighs and forces his eyes open. They train to his alarm clock. “Okay. I’ll walk you out.”
“No, don’t worry about it. I can find my way.”
He hugs me tighter. “Did you sleep okay?”
“I did. Thanks.” I crawl over him and stand tall, stretching all my muscles from my toes to my jaw. A strangled cry escapes my lips for effect.
He grins. “I’ll make you breakfast.”
“No, I
have to go. It’s going to be a long day, and I have to meet my probation officer today.”
I look around and find my fleece and purse. I pull the fleece on, watching him by the window. The sunlight surrounds him like a halo. His dirty blond hair takes on a golden hue. He certainly is handsome. And if I’m being honest, sexy as hell. Sex sure would have been nice last night. Maybe a little painful at first? Holy shit, he’s got a python in his pants. But I’m glad it never happened—sort of. I’m still so nervous to take that step with him and risk losing him completely.
How would this morning have played out? Me crawling out quietly so I didn’t wake him? Him wondering if he made a mistake? If I was worth it? Me wondering if avoiding him is easier than being around him? Sex changes things. He says I would mean more to him than that, but how much more? Is it enough? I’ve dodged my fair share of guys after some hot and sweaty nights that never should have happened.
A quiet snore leaves his lips, and I don’t have the heart to disturb him. He’s too angelic like he is. When I open the door it creaks and causes him to stir. “Talk to you soon?”
“Absolutely.” I close the door gently behind me.
I go to all my classes and feel triumphant that I made myself when all I wanted to do was go home and lie on my bed and watch Netflix. My probation officer makes me wait a full half hour before I see him in the afternoon, and when I finally do, he has nothing to say to me except to ask about school, my marks, and my support systems. Then he gives me pamphlets about anger management classes since the court never mandated them. I’m exhausted by the time I leave his office.
I spend my evening in the library studying. Exams are coming soon, and I find myself wanting to do well. I still have no idea what I’m going to do when I graduate or what major I should pick, but at least I’m trying now.
I don’t sleep well that night. Every time I close my eyes, I think about Michael and what could have happened the night before. I’m an idiot. We wanted each other so damn bad, and I couldn’t let him have me. I doubt I’ll have an equal amount of restraint the next time things heat up between us. I should give in. Should let myself have him because he’s important to me. I know I am to him, too.
