“I guess I wouldn’t.”
“You could just give in.”
“And what would you want me to give in to?”
“My mouth on yours.”
She held her breath through the silence that followed, just waiting for him to reject the idea. Only he didn’t. He didn’t at all. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said, finally.
And that meant only one thing:
She could push for more.
“It would be the way I want to do it.”
“So not just a simple kiss, then.”
“Maybe at first. But I think greed would get the better of me.”
“I don’t know what you mean by greed.”
“Yes you do. In fact, I bet you can picture it.”
“If I can, it’s only in some far off vague way that I don’t think about.”
“Then let make it clearer.” She paused then. In part to wrestle back control of her hammering heart, but also because she knew she had to judge this right. Not go too slow, not go too fast. Just ease him into it. “I wouldn’t be satisfied with one closed mouth kiss. I’d need to go back, and taste you more deeply. Lick those soft lips, urge them to part over mine.”
“And if I did manage to do something like that? If I did it for you, the way you want?”
“If you did that the way I wanted, it would probably make me pass out.”
“Pretty extreme reaction for something so small.”
“It isn’t small, though. It’s you giving yourself over to it.”
“And you like that idea?”
She didn’t know what she liked best about the question: the fact that he sounded almost surprised, or the way he looked at her when he said it. There was clear pleasure on his face—she could see it. And that definitely destroyed some of the barriers that had been holding her back. Now when she answered, she sounded near breathless.
Plus, the words came in such a rush.
“Oh god, yes. Yes. Fuck, just the thought of you losing some of that control…of you suddenly kissing me back all hot and wet and greedy…yeah, that does it for me. That does it for me in a way I didn’t even think was possible anymore. Honestly, I thought that part of me was gone, but one suggestion from you that you’d kiss me back like that, and I’m trembling,” she blurted out. Then before she could stop it, “I’m thinking of a dozen other things I’d do.”
Though incredibly, he didn’t seem to mind.
He kept his gaze locked with hers.
And he carried on talking. “So, a kiss wouldn’t be enough.”
“No, god no, not after that.”
“You’d want more of me.”
“So much more. All the parts of you I didn’t even know I was going crazy over—your throat when you ran two fingers over it and your body when you took off your jacket, oh man that body, that body. I just want to kiss every inch of it. Lick every inch of it. See if you taste the way you smell, all cinnamon-sweet. See if you’d moan when I found some place that’s gone way too long without.”
This time, there was more of a reaction.
His eyes stuttered closed, for the barest moment.
And his voice, when he spoke, sounded different.
Deeper, she thought. So deep in this, he could no longer make himself stop.
“That’s all of me. All of me has gone a long time without.”
“So, I guess it wouldn’t take much, then.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Just a hand underneath the waistband of your jeans.”
“A second ago you were licking my throat.”
“And now, I want to lick something else.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he said, and she knew, she knew as soon as he did that she’d broken through his restraint. She heard it in the suddenly tight, high tone of his voice, and saw it in the way he suddenly put his hands in his hair.
But even so, she wasn’t expecting him to take hold of her face.
And she definitely wasn’t expecting him to abruptly bridge the space between them.
It was a shock—though, god, it was the best one she’d ever had. It was like getting a rug pulled out from under her, only the rug was as sexy as fuck, and the fall didn’t hurt at all, and once she was on the floor, she didn’t feel bitter.
She felt like begging for more, more, more.
But then he stopped within a millimeter of her lips.
He hesitated, right at the very last possible second.
And she knew she wasn’t going to get it.
She knew, before he pulled away.
All the delicious tension just drained out of the moment, and she was left with this. With him saying, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Don’t be sorry. I made it kind of hard not to.”
“This isn’t on you, Lydia. It’s on me.”
“So we’re back to me as the helpless victim.”
“No. I’m the one who’s helpless. I know I can’t resist, but I let you go on anyway. All my barriers are down, yet I don’t stay away.” He nodded, but only to himself. As if he’d already decided, before he even dropped the killing blow. “I need to stay away.”
“So that’s just it. Goodbye, Lydia. See you sometime at the end of never.”
“You make it sound like a brutal punishment.”
“Because it is one. To never get to see you or talk to you or—” she tried, but she could tell it wasn’t working before he even cut her off.
“We can still talk, honey. Just not like this. Not face to face.”
“I don’t see what’s so different about face to face.”
“It’s different because I can kiss you when we’re this close. I can reach out and touch you, and I will, god knows I will. I’m not strong enough to resist—I will never be strong enough to resist. My life has been too lacking in warmth for me to stand against it. It’s like offering a steak to a man who didn’t know he was starving. I don’t know how to cope.”
By the time he was done, she was pretty close to losing it.
But that was okay, because he clearly was too. His shoulders had dropped; his head was back against the seat. And when he looked at her, his eyes almost begged her to understand. How could she refuse when he was begging her?
It was impossible. Unconscionable. She couldn’t do it.
“God, why did you have to put it that way?”
“You know why I had to put it that way.”
“So that I can’t do anything but agree.”
“Something like that. Though I want to be clear: it’s also the truth.”
“You don’t have to be clear. I already know,” she said, though the last word had to be shoved out quickly. Tears were starting to threaten her voice. In a second, he’d be able to hear that she was upset, and she didn’t want him to.
Not when it would make it harder for him to do this.
He needed to do this. And she needed to be okay with it.
If only for now.
“This is my number. Dial it so I have yours.” He handed her a hastily scribbled on piece of paper from his little notebook, and she did what he asked. Numbly, but she did it. “You can call it any time you want—day or night—and for any reason at all. Even if you think you’re being ridiculous. Even if it has nothing to do with us or me or anything I’ve taught you. You feel troubled by anything, you call me. All right?”
“Yeah. That sounds more than all right, to be honest.”
“This isn’t about cutting you out of my life.”
“I didn’t really think it was, I swear.”
“We don’t have to stop being friends.”
“That is really good to know.”
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.
But god, in that moment, it really didn’t feel like it would be.
Watching him drive away was as hard as letting go of the side of the boat.
When you know, when you just know it’s the only thing keeping you afloat.<
br />
Chapter Nine
She refused to think about calling him. He’d made his position on the whole thing pretty clear, and she wanted to respect that. And in truth, it was a lot easier than she’d first imagined. She had lectures to attend, and parties to go to, and conversations to have with her mom about how things were going. But more importantly: she actually wanted to do all of those things. It was almost easy to do them.
Though, obviously, sometimes she slipped.
She panicked when she briefly couldn’t see Letty at Mike Tennebaum’s birthday party. There was a moment in the elevator, after she suddenly realized she was alone in there with the guy from the apartment above theirs. The one with the saggy moustache, who always seemed a little out of place in amongst the mostly student population of her building, and usually looked at her just a little too long.
And she often still found herself tensing up.
But, on the whole, she was okay.
She was doing okay.
She didn’t need him.
Though, god, it was good when his name suddenly lit up her phone. At the very least, it was a relief to know she hadn’t completely fucked things. He still wanted to talk to her, just like he’d said. And even though it only looked like concern, even though it was only him asking her if she was okay, she knew he was angling for more than that.
She knew because when she texted back:
Nah. I died of longing for you three days ago.
He went with way more than she could possibly have hoped for:
Well, at least you can still send me a sarcastic text from beyond the grave.
She almost bounced on her bed the moment it came through. It was just so unburdened by any of the shit they’d talked about in the car. So willing to go with what she’d said, without a second thought. And things only got better from there.
A really weird looking guy on the subway taught me how.
Does that make you Patrick Swayze?
Yeah. Only without the sexy pottery.
We could do ordinary pottery.
Ah, like a scene from the lesser known sequel: Friends Make a Nice Mug in Separate Apartments While Fully Clothed. She paused mid-message—both to settle deeper into the comfort of her bed, and to come with exactly the right soundtrack choice. Then it hit her, and she finished through uncontrollable giggles. Instead of Unchained Melody playing over the top of the action, it’s The Birdy Song.
Why the fuck does it have to be The Birdy Song?
It was the least sexual tune I could think of.
I think we might be safe without killing our ears completely.
Yeah you say that, but yesterday, I was listening to a lecture on trade deficits from nineteen ninety-six and somehow started having forbidden thoughts. I can have forbidden thoughts over anything.
It took him longer to reply to that one. So long, in fact that, she started to wonder if she’d gone too far again. She pictured him in his own bed with that desperate look on his face. The don’t do this to me look that she could hardly stand to think about.
But then her phone pinged and there it was:
Permission. Permission to go further.
At no point did I suggest that any thoughts must be forbidden, he had written.
Though, still she wasn’t quite sure if she could.
Only because you’ve no idea how filthy my mind can be.
Pretty sure I can handle it.
You couldn’t in the car.
That was different.
How?
She bit her nails as she waited for his response.
But the one that came was nowhere near as nerve-wracking as she’d imagined.
It was funny. In fact, it was funnier than she’d ever thought he could be.
Well, it’s much easier to resist kissing a phone than a person And, even if I did totally lose my mind and make out with this thing, no one is gonna get hurt but me.
If your phone breaks your heart, I will cut a bitch.
Oh, it could never.
Not sexy enough for you?
Too little like the woman I want to be with.
She tried to pretend he hadn’t meant what she knew he’d meant.
But it was impossible. The words punched into her like a bullet. She couldn’t have avoided their meaning if she tried. And the truth was—she didn’t want to try. The woman was her, she knew it was her, and now he’d given her no reason not to talk about that.
Though, she tried to be careful.
Then maybe you should dump the phone and be with this obviously amazing babe. I mean, I can tell just by your word choice that she’s got to be smart and sexy and cool.
She is all of those things and more.
Then what are you waiting for?
Her heart was pounding by the time she sent the question. And she knew her fingers flew over the letters far too quickly. She knew she’d hit send before her mind had chance to catch up. Still, she thought he’d at least come up with some kind of answer.
After all, he’d helped get her to that point.
Yet, for some reason, he didn’t reply.
In fact, he stayed silent until the most random time possible: two in the morning. She had to fumble through the darkness to get at her phone, then read it while propped up on her elbows. Forgive me for going dark on you, it said.
And though she wanted to be mad, she couldn’t be.
Not completely, anyway. Not enough to not reply.
To be honest, I kind of expected to never hear from you again after the car. Anything beyond that seems like something of a bonus.
Me fucking you around isn’t a bonus.
You’re not fucking me around, Isaac.
Then explain why I keep doing this.
Same reason I do. It’s addictive.
That doesn’t seem like a good enough reason.
All right. Connecting with someone like this just feels fantastic, she typed and almost didn’t send. It seemed to much like the kind of thing that would make him stop texting—but no, this time he kept going. He accepted the feeling was there, even if it still confused him.
I’m more than used to living without connections.
Yeah, and that’s why it hit you so hard. You’re not a guy who’s never had steak. You’re a guy with an immune system that’s never been exposed to anything suddenly getting hit by the bubonic plague.
I don’t like that you’re the plague in this scenario.
It’s okay. You’re my tuberculosis.
She didn’t know what she expected in return to that.
But it definitely wasn’t a little laughing face.
In fact, it was so surprising she actually sat up and turned on the light, in case her bleary eyes had mistaken it for something else.
Oh my god. Did you just text me an emoji?
In my defense, I am suffering from the Black Death.
Pretty sure cartoon laughing faces were not a symptom of that disease.
Sure they were. We just don’t know that because very few of the medieval peasants had phones.
She burst out laughing.
Too loudly, she knew, with Letty and Tate next door.
But there was just nothing she could do.
He really was funnier, via messages.
More relaxed, she thought. And that seemed true.
I love that you went with very few.
Thought you’d appreciate that.
You know me so well.
Better than I’ve ever known anyone.
Wish I could say the same for you.
You know at least five hundred percent more than anybody else.
Five hundred percent more? Are your family even aware that your name is Isaac?
That was a nice attempt at getting the details out of me.
I wasn’t trying to get them out. I was trying to segue subtly.
Well, there’s no need for either—I don’t find anything objectionable or line crossing in telling you about my family. Though, if you�
��re waiting for some big revelation you’re gonna be pretty disappointed.
There’s literally nothing you can say that would disappoint me, she sent, thinking that he’d disagree. At the very least, she imagined him obfuscating for a little longer.
And then his next message popped up, longer than any he’d previously sent.
My dad was Guatemalan—came to America to practice medicine. My mom was a Jewish teacher from Long Island. Both of them were obsessed with fitting in with all the white families in our little suburb, so I pretty much grew up in the most sickening American cliché you could possibly imagine.
Think I’m going to need some examples of the sickening.
I had to wear a blazer to the school they sent me to.
Oh, god. I think I’m already nauseous.
My packed lunch was always bologna.
This is starting to sound like a harrowing nightmare.
We had a white picket fence and lawn sprinklers we didn’t need.
Dear god, not lawn sprinklers.
Our car had wood paneling on the sides.
Okay, you’re just making this up based on movies from the eighties now, right?
She got another emoji for that. But the following message was a denial.
And one that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking of.
I wish I was. We even had a breakfast island with pots and pans hanging over it.
Well, at least I now know how you became such a cool, sexy badass. You rebelled.
I wish I could say I did. But truthfully? I was always like this.
Then you admit that you’re a cool, sexy badass.
I admit that I’m cold and guarded, and always was.
Is that why you joined whatever shady government agency you worked for?
It was the reason I was recruited.
That made her pause. Partly because she hadn’t expected him to answer at all, but mostly because she desperately wanted to ask more. She wanted to type a thousand questions, but before she could do it he cut in.
We should talk about something else.
Sure. Tell me what you want to talk about.
Anything you like.
How about how crazy it is that you’ll flirt with me via text but not in real life.
I would hardly call what we’re doing here flirting.
Are you sure about that? Because all the signs are there.
Never Better: A Dark Obsession Novel Page 9
