“Yeah, Addie. I’m sorry! Let’s talk about something else.”
I let her steer the conversation for the next half an hour and then she’s called away by her mom. I promise that the next time I’m in town—which will be in just a few days, as my mom’s birthday and Father’s Day are both next weekend—that we’ll get together and I’ll take her out. We say our goodbyes and then I throw myself back against my pillows. While it was good to hear her voice and I look forward to seeing her next weekend, the emotional backlash makes me desperate for an escape—and definitely to a place more distracting than my current novel can take me.
I roll out of bed and make my way to Sarah’s room, knocking softly before I enter. She’s propped up in bed with her computer in her lap, no doubt stuck in a Facebook trance. “Hey,” she murmurs as I make myself comfortable at the foot of her bed.
“Hey. Do you want to go somewhere later? I need to get out.”
“Are you okay?” she asks, closing her laptop so she can focus all of her attention on me.
“Yeah. Sort of…I just—” I stop, unsure how to explain myself without crying.
“No explanation needed,” she insists, putting up a hand to stop me. “Where are we going?”
Before I can answer, my phone starts ringing again. It’s still in my hand and I can’t help the groan that pathetically spills from my mouth at the thought of someone calling me. That didn’t exactly go so well for me forty-five minutes ago. I slide my finger across the screen without paying attention to who might be trying to reach me, anxious to get the conversation over with. “Hello?”
“Hey, Addie? It’s Roman.”
“Oh. Hi.” We had exchanged numbers a couple weeks ago, but neither of us have put them to use yet, and I wasn’t expecting to hear his voice on the other end of the call. “What’s up?”
“I’m still at work, so I only have a minute, but Daph just dropped by on her way to the cafe. She told me about this open mic night they’re doing later—it’s a slam poetry thing. I don’t really know anyone else who would be interested, but then I thought of you. Do you want to go?”
I cough out a relieved sigh as I look over at Sarah. “Is it alright if Sarah comes, too?”
“Sure. It starts at seven. Meet you both there?”
“Yeah. Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Of course. I’ll see you later.”
I mimic his goodbye before smiling at my best friend, who is currently wearing a look of curiosity. “That was Roman. We’re going to go see some open mic night slam poetry.”
“That’s random, but okay,” she says before a sly grin tugs at her lips. “I’ve never hung out with Mr. Yoga outside of work. This should be fun.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me teasingly and I laugh, grateful for the distraction that already seems to be my first replacement bandaid to re-cover my aching wound.
“You so like him.”
“Hate to disappoint you, Twinkles, but I’m so not going there. He’s too hot for his own good. Now—help me figure out what to wear, tonight.” I beam at her, aware that her statements contradict themselves in a totally Avery-like way. I don’t mention it, though, and before I know it, we’re both lost in her closet.
When Avery and I get back to the apartment after our lunch date, we find it empty. I certainly won’t complain about that, as I’m more than happy to continue spending time alone in her company. She excuses herself to the bathroom and I make myself comfortable on the couch, reaching for the remote before switching on the TV. I flip to the guide channel, curious to see what movies might be playing this afternoon, knowing that if I put on sports, Avery will just end up falling asleep. I love that about her—that she won’t complain when that’s my preference, but rather snuggle up with me and use it as an excuse for a nap.
Then again, I love everything about her.
She comes back just as I switch the channel to a comedy flick. It’s already half over and I wonder if I should pick something else, and then Avery’s straddling my lap and I realize that won’t be necessary. I toss away the remote and slide my hands around her waist as I stare into her eyes. Ever since the weekend of her birthday, we’ve been growing closer and closer. I know we trusted each other before and considered one another pretty good friends, but this is different.
With Avery, there is intimacy that I’ve never known—which blows my mind because we’ve never even come close to taking each other’s clothes off while in the heat of a moment. I didn’t know that a relationship could be like this; that vulnerability, honesty, and patience could amount to this. It makes me love her more, which would scare me if she didn’t make me feel…safe—but she does. I'll admit it to anyone who asks without fear of sounding like a punk. I don't care how it sounds, only how it feels—warm and calm and constant and better than anything I've ever experienced with another human being. The only thing that scares me is the thought that I could screw it all up. It would be me. I know that she would never hurt me. She loves me and she never hides it from me or uses it against me—she just gives it to me.
As she reaches up and runs her fingers through my hair, my eye lids droop until they're sealed shut. I can’t get enough of the feeling of her hands on me, or the weight of her pressed against me, or the scent of her perfume—which is rich and elegant and deliciously indescribable. I also cherish the freedom she has given me to explore her body with my own hands and mouth. I know that I’m more experienced than she is, so I’m scared to death to try anything, which is why we haven’t gone very far—but I won’t deny that I want to. So badly. Yet, like always, she gives me the strength to hold back because she has control. I never want to make her uncomfortable. Not ever. Not even a little. So we move at whatever speed she desires.
I spread my palms flat across her back and pull her closer. She comes willingly, pressing her lips to mine to eliminate any significant space between us. I open my mouth first, anxious to taste her. With one flick of my tongue, she grants me access with a gasp. If she only knew how she kills me just by breathing…But she doesn’t know. I don’t question her ignorance to the profound effect she has on me—it’s part of her charm, part of her innocence. It’s frustratingly beautiful. As she kisses me deeper, my heart beats faster and my desire for her becomes uncomfortably evident. I need to move, to adjust myself, so I do. I act before I think, lifting my hips off the couch and inadvertently rubbing up against her. She sucks in a sharp breath at the contact, severing our mouth’s connection.
She breathless as she looks at me, her cheeks crimson, and I regret moving. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I was…uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine. I just—” She shakes her head, running her fingers through her hair as her face burns even brighter. Her eyes move away from mine and I can tell by her body language that she’s embarrassed.
“Hey,” I murmur, gliding my hands over her hair until I’m cupping my hands around the back of her neck. I wait for her to look at me before I continue speaking. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I—I should probably—” She shifts to move away from me, off of my lap, but I stop her, locking her in place with my arms.
“Please, don’t go.”
“Sonny…I don’t mean to make you…uncomfortable.”
“Avery, you’re hot as hell. You don’t even have to be touching me to make me—” I stop when she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. I know she’s feeling bashful right now, but she has no idea how sexy she is; if I don’t change the direction of this conversation… “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
She giggles, resting her forehead against mine. “I’ve been avoiding this conversation like a baby. Maybe it’s time we had it.”
“Are we about to have the sex talk?” I ask teasingly, trying to keep the mood light. She laughs and buries her face between my neck and my shoulder.
“Lord, help me. I should be more mature than this. I’m twenty-one years old, for crying out loud.” I chuckle, keeping one
arm around her as I free my other to run my fingers down the length of her hair. “I’m kind of scared.”
“About what?”
“About what you want,” she whispers.
I freeze, my muscles tensing in surprise. “You’re afraid of what I want?” She nods against my neck, keeping her face hidden, and I can no longer stand not being able to see her eyes. “Sweetheart, look at me. Please. Look at me.” She does as I ask, fidgeting with the buttons of my polo shirt. Her nerves are adorable and I can’t help the small smile that pulls at my lips. “Now talk to me.”
I watch as she searches my eyes. I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but I can tell when she finds it because she takes a deep breath and then starts speaking. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything, you know that.”
She nods, her fingers moving from the buttons of my shirt to the collar. “You’re not a virgin, right?”
“No. I’m not,” I answer honestly. “I know you are, and that’s okay.”
“Are you expecting that we’ll…? Because I don’t—”
“Hey.” I interrupt her, pulling her hands away from my shirt so that I can lace my fingers with hers. Her gaze follows our hands and I continue, not demanding more of her attention than she’s willing to give right now. “I don’t want to either.” I cough out a laugh before I correct myself. “I mean, I do—I want you—but not like this. I know where you stand. I know that you want to wait until you get married and I respect that. I respect you with my whole heart. I knew coming into this relationship that I would wait for you.”
“Really?” she asks, bringing her eyes back up to meet mine.
“Really. Even if you were to change your mind, I wouldn’t. I would never steal your virginity from your husband; I would never take away a gift you’ve been saving this long. Ave, you’re so good and pure and that’s part of the reason I love you so much and I don’t ever want to take that away from you. I won’t. I promise. Okay?”
She bites her lip and hums her assent, giving my fingers a squeeze. “Is it okay for me to wonder how many girls there were…before me?” She asks so softly I barely make out her words.
“That’s fair,” I assure her—or maybe myself. “Are you sure you want to know?”
She furrows her eyebrows as her lips turn down in a frown. “Is it that bad? Oh, gosh, do you have some wild number of girls that you’ve been with that I’ll have to live up to?” I can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s not so much judging me as she is worrying about how she’ll measure up—which is ridiculous.
“Love, no one compares to you. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Okay,” she mutters unconvincingly. “I want to know, anyway.”
“Seven.” I watch her closely, wanting to spot any disapproval that might flicker across her features; I need to know if it’s there, even if she doesn’t voice it—but she doesn’t give anything away.
“Did you…love them?”
“No.” I state matter-of-factly, with not a hint of hesitation. I don't dwell on the significance of my answer. Instinct propels me to be honest without pulling her into the depths of my past—she asked, I answered, no great details are necessary. The last thing I want to do is allow my history to hurt her or come between us.
“Um. Okay. So. Is this—” Her nerves still linger and it’s obvious she’s having a hard time forcing her words out. I wish I could read her mind, so as to spare her from this moment, but I can’t. So I wait. “Is this all about me? I mean. Is there any part of you that wants to wait for yourself?”
Now it’s my turn to pull my eyes away from her. There’s so much she’s asking in that one question. For the longest time, it wasn’t so much about waiting for marriage as it was waiting for something better. Parts of my sexual past are nightmares I wish I could bury and never think of again. Then, there’s just my plain old stupidity or lust or my desire to know love. I know now that what I’ve experienced in the past, it wasn’t love. I know because it wasn’t this—what I have with Avery.
“Yes,” I finally answer. “When I became a Christian, I came to understand why it’s a practice to wait. I know that sex is a gift that God gave us to enjoy, but that it’s also not something that should be shared with everyone who wants you. Our bodies and our souls weren’t meant to be intimate with just anyone. It’s not just a physical act. Even though I have had sex, being taught the significance of it made me see the importance of changing my actions going forward. So I adopted the conviction, but without ever having to put it to the test. It wasn’t until I fell for you that I knew I’d have to put it into practice. It wasn’t until I got you that I decided I wanted to wait just as much for me as for you.” I force myself to look into her eyes. As difficult as it might be to admit this to her face—to open my heart so wide for her—she makes me want to.
I’m definitely getting used to this feeling.
“Ave, I don’t want to mess this up. You and me. I don’t want to do anything to mess us up. Sex changes everything. Always. Good or bad, either way, it changes everything. I know with you it has the potential to wreck me—if kissing you is any indication, then I have no doubt that it will—and if we do it too soon and I lose you…” I huff out a sigh and shake my head, not wanting to entertain that thought pattern. “I love you. So much that you make me want to save myself for you, too.”
Her eyes pool with tears as I speak, but none fall. When I finish, she smiles at me before cupping her hands around my face and gracing me with a kiss. “I love you so much, Grayson O’Conner. You. Are. Amazing. Don’t believe anything less.”
I slump forward, pressing my forehead against hers. “I don’t deserve you.”
“I’ll never believe that,” she assures me; and then she shuts me up with a kiss.
This time, I dare not argue.
When Sarah and I walk into the cafe, it’s already buzzing with a crowd full of energy. I look around to see if I can spot Roman, but I don’t see him. Sarah suggests we order our drinks while we wait and so we do, hopping into the short line that forms at the counter. A friendly barista named Brandon takes our order and passes the marked cups to his partner. I’m reaching into my purse for my wallet when I’m distracted by the sound of her voice.
“Hey, Addie. Hey, Sarah,” Daphne greets us both with a welcoming smile. It’s amazing how her lip ring seems to add to the warmth of her expression. She’s straightened her wavy locks, making her asymmetrical cut look even more dramatic than before; and her bangs cover her shadow covered eye until she tosses her head and they fly off of her face. “You two picked an awesome night to stop in.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. I haven’t seen her since the night of my birthday and I can’t believe she actually remembers my name. As if Sarah can read my mind, she asks, “How did you know she was Addie?” I laugh, amused that Sarah is not at all concerned with how Daphne remembered her name, too.
“Avery clued me in. One of these things is not like the other,” she sings that last bit as she twirls a strand of pink hair around her finger. “Now that I know the trick to tell you two apart, I can continue my streak of being that badass barista who never forgets a name,” she adds with a wink.
Sarah giggles at her as she nods her approval. “I forgot how much I liked you,” she says bluntly.
“Well, don’t let it happen again and I won’t hold it against you. You both get major cool points for making it to open mic night.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of excited,” I admit, already soaking in some of the anticipation that fills the atmosphere. “I’ve never been to one before. Roman invited us.”
“Oh, is that right?” she asks, hoisting an eyebrow at me. “Is that why he’s currently paying for your drinks?”
Both Sarah and I turn to find Roman doing just that. I watch, open mouthed, as he slips his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. My protest is caught in my throat, lodged and unmoving, as my eyes take in a sight I’ve never seen—Roman dressed for a casual ni
ght out. I’ve seen him in his work clothes—a pair of dark jeans and the black polo we all wear—and I've seen him in his workout clothes—gym shorts and a loose fitting sleeveless t-shirt—but never like this. The jeans he wears are light gray, fitted low on his hips, and held snuggly with a hunter-green belt. His low cut V-neck t-shirt—which reveals a hint of chest hair and hugs him close enough that you can see the curves of his muscular physic underneath—is a charcoal gray that brings out the warm tones in his sun-kissed skin. As simple as the difference in attire might be, I'm not sure that I’ve ever seen him look more like himself.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I finally manage.
“But thank you,” pipes in Sarah, nudging me with her elbow.
“I know,” he tells me with a smile before leaning in to greet me with an embrace. “And you’re welcome.” I return the gesture, his arms around me becoming more and more familiar and welcomed as the weeks go by. Everyone loves a good hug, right?
When he pulls away from me, he goes to hug Sarah next. She catches my eye from over his shoulder and mouths ‘oh, my gosh’ before making a face that implies she might melt into a puddle at any moment. I laugh softly and roll my eyes at her.
“Glad you both made it,” he says, stepping away from Sarah.
“Me too. I was just telling Daphne that I’ve never been to an event like this before.”
“I’m actually surprised,” says Sarah as she slips her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Beck never thought to bring you to something like this? It kind of seems right up your ally—she who always has a book of words in her hands.”
An involuntary sigh escapes me as I try pushing away the ache that resurfaced earlier, which seems to pinch at my heart at the sound of his name. “Yeah, well, he’s not really into poetry. Or readings. Or books, actually—unless it's his Bible or a textbook of some kind.”
“That’s true. Weird, considering he works at a bookstore, but true.”
The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) Page 26
