by L. A. Witt
Please don’t push me away, Marcus.
Please don’t hate me for doing this.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my emotions to settle so I didn’t wind up literally crying on his shoulder. That wouldn’t help anything. He’d wake up. He’d want to talk. And right now I was saying everything I could work up the courage to say.
Don’t ask me for more—this is all I have.
I don’t know how else to tell you I love you.
I sighed, and he stirred a little before settling again. I had to fight hard against the urge to press a kiss to his neck or his shoulder. Nothing to get him spun up or frisky—just a soft, affectionate touch because goddammit, I wanted to. But that might wake him up, and then this would be over. I wasn’t ready for it to be over yet.
Tomorrow, we’d be back to fucked-up, and God knew if or how we’d ever get past that, but for now—for just a little while—I had him in my arms.
And for as long as I could, I was going to enjoy this.
Chapter 18
Marcus
My eyes fluttered open to thin, gray daylight coming in through the gauzy curtains. I remembered I was in this godawful motel in the middle of nowhere, but it took my tired senses a moment to catch up with all the details.
Especially the part where someone was cuddled up against me. The warm, strong arm slung over my midsection. The bare foot woven between my lower legs. The tingling in my fingers because my arm was wrapped around broad shoulders and I’d lost circulation in my arm because someone’s head was resting on my chest.
Someone being… Reuben.
My breath hitched. I tilted my head as much as I could without disturbing him, and… yeah, there was no doubt about it. Unless I’d hooked up with another gray-haired guy with shoulders that sexy.
Except I was pretty sure we hadn’t hooked up. In fact, I knew we hadn’t. I’d have remembered. Sex with Reuben was anything but forgettable, and waking up this morning, I’d have noticed all the aches and twinges before I’d even noticed him lying against me.
So no, we hadn’t done anything.
Then how the fuck…
I opened and closed my hand to get some blood moving. Before I realized what I was doing, I let my tingling fingers brush his arm. Down. Then up. Then down again. Slow, lazy arcs like I’d sometimes done in the past when he’d been asleep on my shoulder.
Lying like this, I could almost convince myself everything was back to the way it was six years ago. Like if I squinted at an old car, I could see it in all its perfect, shiny glory without the rust, dents, bald tires, and dead battery.
I sighed, still caressing his arm. I’d hate myself later for it, but I made no move to disentangle myself from him. Aside from that morning in Boise, it had been far too long since I’d woken up with someone, and much longer since I’d woken up with him.
Do you have any idea how much I miss you?
That had been killing me anyway, but now this, the way we were lying together? God, it reminded me so much of the handful of times we’d fought when we were dating. We’d argue, and somehow we’d wind up in the same bed even though we didn’t live together. It was like no matter how pissed off we were, neither of us could justify sleeping apart. We wouldn’t necessarily have sex, but we’d at least land on the same surface, and that had always given me hope that we could work things out.
And somehow, in the middle of the night, we’d drift back together and wake up like this. Sometimes his head was on my shoulder. Sometimes mine was on his. Or one of us would be spooning the other, or… something. But we’d fall asleep miles apart and wake up in the middle of the bed, and over coffee, I could usually find the words to ease whatever had pushed us away in the first place.
Pressing my lips together, I fought back tears because it felt so good to be holding him like this, and it was also excruciating to realize I couldn’t find those magic words this time.
Oh, there were words. There were three in particular I wanted to say to him.
But I couldn’t. Not now.
Sure, I could tell him. I could sit him down, look him in the eye, and pour my heart out until there was no doubt left in his mind that I missed him, I wanted him, and I loved him.
But not while the ink was still wet on his divorce. He couldn’t possibly be ready for anything with anyone, never mind with an ex-boyfriend who’d played a part in the closing act of his marriage.
All I could do now was unfuck what we’d done to our friendship, and try to keep things on an even keel until he’d moved on from his marriage. Then… well, it was up to him if we had a shot at getting it right this time.
It was too soon after his divorce, and things were too raw between us, and…
I closed my eyes and exhaled. There was never going to be a right time, was there?
Beside me, he stirred. Then, slowly, he pushed himself up on his elbow and turned his head toward me, features puffy with sleepiness. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I wanted so desperately to smooth his sleep-tousled hair, but I wasn’t sure if I should.
His hand went to his lip, and his eyes filled with horror. “Oh God. I drooled on you.”
I glanced down and wiped the hint of wetness off my chest. “It’s okay. Isn’t like it’s the first time.”
The horror held for a second, but then he laughed. “Eh, you’ve done the same to me a few times.”
“Exactly.”
We met each other’s eyes, and the amusement faded. Yeah, we’d done things like that in the past. Back when we’d slept together all the time. When we’d been together. A long, long time ago before things got weird.
Reuben scooted over a little, putting some more distance between us, which the room’s cool air rushed to fill in. Goose bumps prickled all the skin he’d been pressed up against a minute ago.
Damn it. Come back.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “So, um.” He cleared his throat, staring down at his wringing hands. “I guess… while we wait for the van…”
“We might as well go find something to eat.”
“Yeah. Good idea. Any, um, ideas?”
“There’s a diner next door. I ate there yesterday and it wasn’t half bad.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “Just, um, let me grab a shower.”
“Okay.”
Reuben stood, but he only made it a couple of steps toward the bathroom before he stopped. He stood there for a moment, rocking on his feet, and finally turned back to me. “Look, I know we’ve got a lot to sort out, but… that thing I said about the other night? About you only coming on to me because I was a sure thing?” Cheeks coloring, he broke eye contact. “I’m sorry. That was a cheap shot.”
I swallowed. “I kind of figured you didn’t actually mean it.”
“No, I didn’t, but I said it.” He met my gaze again. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
A faint smile flickered across his lips. One tugged at mine too.
Then he disappeared into the bathroom, and the moment was gone. As soon as the bathroom door was shut behind him, I released a breath and covered my face with both hands. I was relieved he’d apologized for that much, but I had no illusions that we were back on solid ground. The air between us hadn’t been this uncomfortable the night we’d broken up, for fuck’s sake. That hadn’t been a fun evening, and leaving had hurt like hell, but somehow that was more appealing than this. Maybe because there’d been some finality that night. Today, everything was up in the air, and even letting it all crash and burn at our feet sounded better than continuing like this. Even after waking up in each other’s arms and that apology, it was all so daunting. In fact, that tiny bit of progress we’d just made seemed to make things worse, as if it pointed out how far we still had to go. How much distance we still had to cross.
And how impossible that seemed.
Chapter 19
Reuben
So much for the van being fixed.
“Still waiting o
n some parts,” the mechanic said with a shrug. “I’ve got a buddy running them up from out of town. The roads were too bad for him to get here yesterday, but he should be here in another hour. Two if the roads are bad.”
“How long do you think it’ll take after that?” Marcus’s voice was still calm and collected, but he was tense all over. “We need to get on the road so we can clear the pass before dark.”
The mechanic shrugged again. “Probably won’t be ready until this evening, I’m afraid.”
My heart sank. Tomorrow? Fuck, no.
Beside me, Marcus exhaled, a cloud of breath forming between the three of us as we stood in the freezing cold garage. “Just… send me a text as soon as you have an ETA.”
“Will do.”
The mechanic walked away, and Marcus turned to me. “So, what do we do now?”
“Well, first things first,” I said, “we should try to snag our room again. If we’re stuck here for another night, let’s grab it before someone else does.”
“Good idea.”
We hurried back across the street, and fortunately our room hadn’t been snatched up in the twenty minutes since we’d checked out. With our key in hand, we dragged our luggage back to the familiar room and parked our suitcases beside the familiar bed with its pink comforter still rumpled from last night.
There was one thing working to our advantage—being at the trade show all week meant we both had a crapload of work to catch up on when we got back to the office. With no transportation and an entire day to kill in a tiny no-name town, there wasn’t much to do except hunker down, fire up our laptops, and make some headway on all that crap.
I sat against the headboard. Marcus took one of the chairs. For hours on end, the only sounds were our fingers on keyboards and the odd diesel engine roaring by on the interstate.
More times than I could count, I stole a glance at him. Sometimes I got an ache in my chest because I hated how uncomfortable things were between us. A few times I wanted to put my laptop aside and suggest we talk about this, but that thought terrified me because I was afraid of what either of us might say. Other times, I wanted to grab the alarm clock, hurl it at his head, and tear into him for… hell, I didn’t know what. It wasn’t fair anyway. Things were awkward, and it was no more his fault than it was mine. This tension between us wasn’t as hostile as it had been before, but it was still uncomfortable. It was fucking painful. And I had no idea what to do about it. I was pretty sure that wasn’t just my emotional short-circuiting; Marcus wasn’t one to just wallow silently if he thought he could fix the situation.
Marcus left around one to get some lunch. After he came back, I went out. Dinner was the same deal. I was simultaneously bothered and relieved that we’d both assumed without saying a word that we were eating alone today. After a week of being too close for comfort, I was pretty sure we’d both needed the breathing room. I knew I did.
Eventually, we both started rubbing our eyes more than looking at our screens. I gave up first and put my computer aside. A few minutes later, he did the same.
The silence continued as we went in for our respective showers, brushed our teeth, and got ready to call it a night.
Which brought us to…
Aw, Christ.
Marcus sat on his side. I stood by mine. Over the mattress, we exchanged uneasy looks. This bed wasn’t nearly big enough for us to sleep in. Not when we were like this. Last night, sure. When we’d cuddled up in the middle of the mattress, it had been fine, but—
Maybe that was the key. Maybe instead of staying as far apart as a “queen” bed would allow, we should just leave all the bullshit outside and come together in the middle again. It wouldn’t solve everything. It didn’t have to. But it had to be better than this.
Before I could stop myself, I said, “We could always fuck.”
He eyed me, eyebrows climbing his forehead.
“I’m serious.” My face burned, but I kept going. “Shit’s already awkward between us. But we’re good at sex, and at least we’ll get off. Then maybe we can go to sleep.”
We’ll both sleep better, and maybe we can say some of the things we don’t know the words to say.
“You don’t think it would make things weird?” he asked so softly I barely heard him.
“I can’t imagine it’ll make them weirder than they already are.”
Please don’t push me away.
Swallowing hard, he searched my eyes.
Experimentally, I pulled the covers back and sat on my side of the bed, still holding his gaze as I closed some of the space between us. He tensed, but didn’t move away.
With my heart in my throat, I reached for his arm. “We both need to sleep.” And I need you.
He held my gaze, still tense and still not coming closer. I took it as him trying to formulate a rejection that would get the point across without making this any less bearable than it already was. Message received.
I started to withdraw my hand, but he caught my wrist.
We both froze.
And then, without making a sound, Marcus crossed the chasm between us, draped his arm over me, and kissed me. Relief hit me even before arousal did. I shifted so we were facing each other fully, wrapped my arms around him, and opened to his gentle but insistent tongue. We were already down to our boxers, so as we sank together on the bed, warm skin touched warm skin all over. After a solid week of feeling like shit, not to mention a miserable day of being next to each other in uncomfortable silence, I felt so good I wanted to cry. And I wanted to make him feel so good he cried.
My mind kept trying to take me back to everything we were screwing to avoid, but I fought it hard. I tried to think of how much I wanted him right now. I tried to think of all the times we’d been in bed in the past, but only two times kept coming back to me—Boise and December. Hot, impulsive sex that had been amazing in the moment, but disasters in the aftermath. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the sounds he made and how my whole body reacted to his touch, my brain fixated on Marcus not being able to look at me. On me not being able to hear his voice or see him or even let him cross my mind without a wave of guilt crashing over me.
I held him tighter and kissed him harder. Still, guilt kept trying to elbow arousal out of the way, and despite my best efforts, it was winning. I wanted him, and I wanted things to be okay between us, but now I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go through with this. I wasn’t so sure I could.
Then Marcus sighed, and not in a good way.
He broke the kiss.
I pulled back.
We locked eyes, but only for a second.
“Maybe we should just try to sleep.” Marcus’s words didn’t hit me nearly as hard as the resignation in his voice.
“Yeah. Maybe we should.”
And just like we had done almost everything today, we didn’t say a word. We separated. He killed the light. And we lay there, both stone-still and breathing slowly. Was his heart thumping as hard as mine was? Did he feel sick like I did?
I didn’t know. All I knew was that the bed seemed tinier than it had last night, but the space between us seemed like miles.
And I didn’t know how to cross that space tonight.
***
“Goddammit.” Marcus hung up his phone and exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose.
My stomach turned to lead. “Please tell me it’ll be done today.”
“Today, yeah.” He huffed out another breath. “This morning, no.”
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“I know, right?”
“Want to hang out at that diner until the van’s ready? If we stay here, we’ll get billed for another night.”
“Probably not a bad idea,” he grumbled, and went into the bathroom. A second later, stuff started rattling and crinkling; he was probably repacking his shaving kit.
I slid my laptop into its case and started putting my stuff back together too. Then, in awkward silence—man, that was becoming a thing with us—we gathered our lu
ggage and left the motel room. While we waited behind an elderly couple to check out, we avoided each other’s gazes, and a sick feeling soured my stomach. The words “last night was a bad idea, wasn’t it?” hung on the tip of my tongue, but there was no point in saying them out loud. He knew. I knew. We knew.
After we’d checked out, we walked over to the diner and hunkered down at a booth near the back, our suitcases tucked behind the bench so they were out of the way.
We probably spent longer than we needed to perusing the menu. It was generic diner food. Nothing unusual. As queasy as I was, it was mostly a matter of finding something that didn’t make me want to retch. And then reading over the menu one more time just to put off having to face Marcus without an easy distraction.
After we’d ordered, we still didn’t talk. At least we had cell signal so we could focus on our phones and ignore each other. Maybe that wasn’t the healthiest thing for us to be doing right now, but it was damn sure the easiest, and I was too tired for anything else.
That wasn’t to say I completely ignored him, though. The only time I could really draw an easy breath was when he stepped out for a minute to use the restroom. Otherwise, I was on pins and needles, my body painfully tense all over from nerves.
The silence between us was… weird. The air between us was taut, but it wasn’t hostile anymore. And I kind of wished it was. Anger and resentment were less painful and draining than the dogpile of guilt, regret, and an almost irresistible need to reach across the space and touch him. It was the only way I could think to reach out to him because I flat out fucking didn’t know what to say.
Figure it out, idiot. Before you lose him completely.
Fresh guilt jabbed at me. I knew I’d always relied too heavily on him—and later, Michelle—to help me walk through what all these feelings meant and how to convey them to someone else. I needed to be able to work that shit out myself before I could approach a partner and start fixing whatever was wrong. I needed to, but hell if I knew how.
