"I didn't actually see you. But it seems we get along better when you're sick, so you can't blame me for soaking up this moment."
She laughs before she can stop herself. "I need to be half dead just to be able to put up with you."
"Ouch," I say, turning my face to find her looking at me. "Am I that bad?"
"You know what?" She pauses, all the while holding my gaze for a beat that seems much longer than just a second. "I'm not sure. I wish you were, it would make everything simple."
"Simple?"
"If you could just stick to being an asshole, I could stick to hating you. Simple."
There's an inherent innocence behind her words. A curiosity that gives me hope.
"I'm going to tell you something that you're not going to believe," I say. "You're not really my type."
She tilts her head forward in a movement that's probably meant to convey her incredulity, but really it just brings her face a centimeter closer to mine. I hold still, even though I get an irresistible urge to kiss her, sick or not.
"Is this part of your rouse? Soothing the prey into thinking it's no longer being stalked?"
"What I mean is, lately I prefer women who are into what I'm into. Just having a good time, nothing else. You don't seem like you're just looking for a good time. You seem like you'd want something more."
My words seem to offend her though her reaction is subtle, running her tongue over her teeth. "You're wrong. I'm not looking for anything at all."
"Here's the thing. We obviously have to see each other all the time, live together, have friends in common. Why don't we try being friends?"
"Friends?" I can hear the sarcasm in her tone. "You had your hands all over me."
"Yeah. That was pretty nice."
A smile tugs my lips. She slaps my arm.
"My point is, I don't let friends put their hands down my pants."
"Are you saying you want to be more than friends?" Even as I voice it, I can tell it's the wrong thing to say.
"No, I mean, I don't want to be special, crotch-groping friends."
"So what does that leave?"
"Non-crotch-groping friends. Two people that can sit on a bed and…talk."
"Okay," I say. "I think we are doing pretty good at that. But I still want to have sex with you." The words leave my lips before I can filter them out.
She snorts. "I know. I'd want to have sex with me, too."
I start laughing and she joins in. We laugh for a long time, feeding off the sound of each other. When we finally stop, she looks sad again and says, "I feel like shit."
"You look like shit."
"Thanks."
Our reactions grow slow, our words grow lazy, and the honesty that comes from that? The lack of inhibitions? It makes her lay her head on my shoulder and the move is something I don't expect.
She must feel the way my body stiffens because she whispers, "Is this okay?"
Is she kidding?
"Yeah. It's okay."
It's strange and humbling to think she's so badly in need of someone to lean on that she'd lean on me. Me, of all people. I don't deserve to be the one she leans on, but there's no way in hell I'm going to leave her alone.
We sit there in a silence that's almost comfortable. Almost. If it wasn't completely unnatural for her to be this close to me. If I wasn't so painfully aware of her body. If I wasn't envisioning the dozens of ways that I want to see her sliding against me.
"Honestly," I say into the silence, "I was hoping that game would get me answers to some things I'm curious about."
She doesn't answer right away and for a wild minute, I think she's fallen asleep. Then her voice drifts over me, tired and resigned. "What do you want to know, Giles?"
I tap a finger on my knee a few times, each drum narrowing in on my curiosity. There's no other way to say it. "I want to know about him."
She shifts. "Him?"
"The guy you didn't love but broke your heart."
She hesitates. "He took something from me…something I'd like to get back."
"And what's that?"
"My power."
I pull in my eyebrows. "I'm not sure what you…" A sick thought cuts me off and my fists clench. I try as hard as I can to keep my tone gentle at my next question. "Did he…rape you?"
"No," she says quickly. "It wasn't that. It was…I…It was—"
"It's okay," I say. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."
She lets out an almost inaudible breath of relief. So fragile it brings a stitch to my chest.
We don't talk again. And for the first time ever, a beautiful girl falls asleep beside me, completely clothed. And I enjoy every second of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Julia
GILES IS GONE WHEN I wake up. I lie still for a few minutes, wondering if maybe I dreamt it all. Wondering if I passed out from dehydration and my subconscious played tricks on me in an effort to give me closure. But my second pillow smells like him and the covers on that side are wrinkled in a way that tells me he slept in my bed last night.
Or maybe he didn't.
Maybe he only stayed until I fell asleep. Either way, it's strange that it happened. Stranger that I let it.
Forgiveness isn't something I do well. I can hold on to a grudge until the next ice age, and then use the heat from my anger to keep me warm. I'm trying to understand why I don't hate Giles the way I know I should. His apology should've been a pebble on bulletproof glass, but instead it was a bazooka, blasting through it without issue.
He caught me in a moment of weakness and then took me by surprise. His words were so genuine when he said he wanted to go back to how things were before. I didn't think we could. He toyed with me that night, knocked me down a few pegs. Then he came to my rescue and bled a little with his words. And I felt the truth of those words in myself, as well. Because whatever it is he's going through, whatever unintentional comfort I've provided, he's done the same for me.
I don't know how he managed to make me feel so comfortable around him, seeking his company after I swore I'd never let him come near me again. Last night wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been sick.
When he came to sit beside me in my bed, I was almost sure he would try something. I worried he'd try to test boundaries like I know he enjoys doing. But despite our proximity, everything about his movements was chaste and innocent. That brought my walls crumbling down, the ice in me shifted. Setting my head on his shoulder was precisely what I needed in the moment. It's ironic, that this guy who's seen me naked and has toyed with me in an awful way, could invoke a space where I no longer feel bare.
It occurs to me when I get out of bed that he might be somewhere in the house, maybe in his own room. But he's not. The house is empty, his car no longer in the driveway.
My throat is dry and there's a slight throb at my temples, clear signs that I'm dehydrated. I remedy the issue by chugging an entire bottle of water and spend the rest of the lamest weekend ever recovering from the day before. Getting freshly cooked food in my stomach and lots of liquids. The whole day, all I keep thinking is, I don't know what compelled me to answer Giles honestly during what should've been just a game. I revealed something I never thought I'd tell him, of all people.
But I'm glad I did.
When you hold in a secret long enough, it starts to become larger than life. A secret feeds on silence, growing limbs until it starts to control you. I learned that the hard way, but what I couldn't have known is the power of releasing a secret in an exhale of words. Just like when I shared with Lex, I felt better telling Giles, even if he didn't understand the significance of my confession. As soon as the words left my lips, I was a little bit lighter. A little bit stronger, even, because for a tiny moment, I owned it instead of letting it own me.
At work, I drag myself around behind the bar, not quite fully recovered. Lex entertains me with updates on Mr. Suit, whose name is actually Jeremy. He still comes to see her at work every so often, and
I keep my lips pressed tight on my opinion of the guy. Lex seems enamored by him. Not just by him, but by what he seems to represent for her. She tells me she has no interest in dating guys our age. She likes her men mature, baggage free, and stable. And I gauge the reason is a lack of stability in her own past.
It has been just under five weeks since that first time Mr. Suit sat at my bar. And though she met him sometime before that, given he was already looking for her that day, I can't help but think she's erecting a fantasy around him. I worry about their nearly ten-year age gap, and how it could give him an advantage over her, psychologically. As mature and wise as Lex is, as much life experience as she might have, she's still a twenty-something-year-old college girl.
Lex asks me about my prank war and I tell her it's over. But I don't tell her what Giles did. It would be too difficult to explain why I forgave him. It would be impossible to put into words the way it just felt like the right thing to do, how my heart just believed his apology and hangs on the promise he'd never toy with me like that again. I know how stupid I'd sound. And that's why a part of me is afraid to even talk about Giles to Lex anymore.
On a practical level, I know I should keep my distance and not try to even broach a friendship with him. I know it's too risky, with him being the way he is and me being attracted to him the way I am. But the idea that he could continue to show me this new side of him is just too appealing to pull away from. I can't resist. He and I, we're drawn to each other in an almost reckless way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Giles
IT COMES AS A shock to everyone that I'd rather just head home than go out to dinner with the group. I haven't heard from Julia since I left her at home this morning, and I want to make sure she's all right.
When I walk into the house, I see her keys and purse on the counter, but the place is quiet. There's light streaming out from her bathroom door, which isn't closed all the way. I pause in the middle of the hall, listening for sounds of sickness. Instead, I swear I hear several sharp intakes of breath, followed by a sniffle.
I'm at the door before I even think twice. "Julia?"
"Shit," she whispers, and then there's the shuffling sound of someone getting to their feet.
"Can I—"
I'm already half pushing the door open when her face appears in the crack. She freezes when she sees me, and I'm rooted to the spot as well. Her eyes are slightly swollen, her nose red.
"No, don't come in," she says, trying to press the door closed.
But I stick my hand into the gap. "Argh," I cry out and she immediately pulls back. I take the opportunity to wedge myself into the room.
She turns her back almost instantly, not wanting me to see her face. I get the urge to set a hand on her shoulder, but I don't. She takes in a breath then turns to face me.
"Are you okay?" I ask, taking a step closer to her.
Her voice is a croak. "Yeah, allergies."
"Really? You look like you're crying."
She sniffles and presses the back of her hand to her nose, then her eyes start filling with tears right before my own. They widen with each passing second as though horrified at what's happening.
Then she spins around and rushes past me and into her room. I'm right behind her, and before she can shut the door, I catch it and follow her inside. She sits on the floor by the foot of her bed, and I stand by the doorway, watching as she covers her face and lowers it to her knees. From the side table, her phone pings with a message.
"Go," she says, clearly embarrassed.
I walk over and sit down beside her. She doesn't look up and she's still sniffling. "First you need to tell me, whose face do I have to pound?"
She lets out a startled chortle between her silent crying. "Mine, maybe." Sucking in a breath, she adds, "God, I should've handled this sooner."
Her phone rings, but she doesn't move. The ringing cuts off. Her uneven breathing, her silent crying, and the embarrassment cloaked thick in the air makes my heart ache.
"Hey, talk to me. Maybe I can help." I put my arm around her shoulder and she stiffens, but doesn't nudge me away.
She lifts her head, but lays her chin on her forearm, where her arms are crossed over her knees. Her face is wet, and tears continue to roll, but the only noise she makes is the occasional sniffle. She's staring out, straight faced.
Once again, her phone pings with a message. Followed by a few more. Whatever is going on, someone's trying to get a hold of her.
There's a big part of me that wants to press her for details. But if she wanted me to know, she would've told me by now.
Instead, I say, "You have the most dignified cry I've ever seen."
She snorts, then covers the lower half of her face with her hand.
"Seriously, your stoic crying is a thing of beauty."
"Shut up." Her voice is stuffy from her clogged nose.
I bring her head against my chest. She resists for a second before settling there.
"I'm sorry," I say. "For whatever is bothering you."
"Do you want to know?" she asks in a small voice.
I should say no. I should tell her that it doesn't matter and that I just want to be here for her. But instead, I say, "If you want to tell me."
"You remember that sex tape I told you about?"
"Yeah." How could I forget?
"It was taken without my permission. My ex-boyfriend had a hidden camera to record our first time together. He uploaded it to a revenge website after we broke up."
"Fuck." Anger pools in my veins that this guy could be so fucking pathetic to do that to her. To anyone.
She tilts her head forward in half a nod. "My uncle had the footage taken down."
"That's great, right?" I'm not sure I understand her reaction, why she's crying if the problem's been resolved.
She swallows. "Those are my friends trying to reach me to tell me that it's no longer on the website."
"How do they…?" I trail off.
"Exactly," she says, wiping her face. "How do they know? Because they've all seen it. Because they all know where to find it and have looked at it, God knows how many times. It's been up for months and I have no idea how many…" She doesn't finish her sentence and I don't want her to.
A searing jab of protectiveness comes over me. "What the fuck is wrong with people?" I wonder aloud.
"I gave one person permission to see my body. One. And now…it's like, who the fuck gave the rest of them permission?"
"Disgusting," I say, resisting the urge to shift where I sit.
I'm uncomfortable because I know the truth. I know how most people would react to the news. I know how I'd react if a hot girl in my school had a sex tape. I'd be the first online to look at it, laughing with my friends, making sly comments about her body or the things being done to her. I wouldn't care if she meant for it to be seen by other people or not. I'd feel perfectly entitled to look. Because, why not? It's there. Everyone else is looking. What harm would it do?
But now? Sitting with Julia makes me feel sick just considering it. Julia didn't want to be someone's porn. That was a decision made for her.
"I thought I'd feel better once it was taken down but this," she waves toward her phone, just as it pings again, "it's like it's happening all over again. God, I feel like I'm going to throw up." She stares at the floor.
"It's gone now, Julia. I know it doesn't feel like a victory, but it is. It's gone." My words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, because I don't believe them.
The Internet is forever. There's no telling if anyone figured out how to download that video. But those aren't the thoughts I want to put in her head right now. Right now, she needs to feel like everything is going to be okay.
She sighs and presses her face back on my chest. Then she shifts, trying to get more comfortable. Then I shift, trying to allow my arm to rest over her shoulder. Finally, I nudge her back and I get to my feet. She looks up at me with swollen eyes and I offer her my hand. She gets to her feet, as
well. Once she's up, I give her a hug and she hugs me back tighter than I expected her to.
I tilt my head down until my breathing brings in a lungful of her shampoo. A clean, fruity smell that's intoxicating. Having her body against mine feels so good in selfish ways. Because her pain is fueling something in me that feeds off us being this close. On having her lean on me. On having her tears stain my shirt until the wet fabric cools my skin.
I don't deserve to hold her like this. I know that. I don't deserve to console her because, as much as I want to think I'm a decent enough guy to not want her even now, it's all I can think about. How I can take her mind off everything, the way I enjoy taking my mind off of things. Sweet, dirty distractions on the mattress. But somehow, some shred of decency in me keeps my hand steady at her waist and resists the urge to make a move on her. It would be wrong, of course. She's vulnerable and hurt.
I pull her back slightly until our eyes meet.
"Come on," I say. "Let's go somewhere, you and me. Let's get you out of this house."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Julia
"TRY TO FROWN. JUST try." Giles tugs me closer as we walk through the crowd. "You can't, can you?"
I smile despite how emotionally spent I am, my eyes still puffy and the crisp night air stinging them. It's true this place is the physical manifestation of adrenaline. The sights around me are sensory overload.
Loud, energetic pop music from the nearby concert follows as we make our way farther into the fair. Hundreds and hundreds of people around us, walking in all different directions, create their own cacophony of sound the way only a large crowd can.
Huge multicolored signs demand our attention on either side of us. Each booth donning multiple giant lettering advertising things like, bacon cotton candy, bacon wrapped pickles, waffle dogs. All sorts of bizarre food options peeking through between more sensible food items like smoked turkey legs, fried chicken, and BBQ ribs. It's my first time at the San Diego fair and it's clear most people come for the food. Everywhere I look someone is stuffing his or her face with things I don't even recognize as edible.
Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) Page 12
