by Anthology
A breath-stealing shiver runs down my spine as I step foot onto the cool, wood floor, and there is a new emptiness in my chest that I’m not sure how to describe, let alone handle. I begin to walk toward the kitchen to clean up the two mugs still sitting on the counter, and a loud knock echoing through the house has me practically jumping out of my skin. I pivot around, taking the three steps back to the door and pull it open, the sight of Sam standing before me, a conflicted and almost distressed look on his handsome face causing my heart to beat a little out of tune.
“Sam. What—”
“I’m sorry.”
His apology comes out on a low whisper, and as my brows narrow in confusion, my pulse quickens. “Sorry? Sorry for what?”
“For this—”
Stepping forward, he drops his chin and crushes his lips down on mine, his one hand quickly sliding up the curve of my neck and into my hair as his other rests in the small of my back, steadying me on my feet. My head and my heart are instantly at war—my head shouting at me to push him away, break our connection, because neither of our hearts are cut out to handle the repercussions of what is seconds away from occurring, and yet, my heart is screaming to pull him closer.
My heart wins out.
Reaching up, I loop my arms around his neck and yank him to me, my entire body lighting up at the feel of him. His chest, hard against my soft, is rising sharply, and his mouth is as greedy as his hands, both exploring and taking. Taking. Taking. Taking. Warm, gentle fingers graze my exposed skin where my shirt has lifted, and the contact is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Like a lit match thrown into a pool of gasoline, heat engulfs every fiber of my being, causing me to release a lust-filled gasp from the back of my throat.
Sam answers by swallowing the sound and kissing me deeper, his tongue clashing with mine in a battle of desperation and need. He’s demanding more, and I’m giving it, willingly. The fire kindling between my thighs ignites into a roaring flame, weakening my knees, and my legs falter for a second time. Sam breaks my fall by gripping my hips and hauling me against him. My legs circle his waist, and my hands slide up the back of his neck, tangling and gripping the soft strands of his hair. Molten pleasure ripples through me as the button on his jeans rubs against the thin barrier of my silk shorts, creating a delicious friction that has me rolling my hips forward, desperate to catch another wave of it. He groans out at my movement, and as the sound of his arousal vibrates down my throat, the throbbing between my legs intensifies.
The driving force of his kiss, and the touch of his hands as they slide beneath my shirt—sending a path of tingles all the way to my breasts and hardening my nipples—has my body yearning for more. So long it has been since I’ve felt the release my body is aching for, and I realize in this moment, that even if I can’t give him my heart, I can give him this: I can give him me. His need is as obvious as mine, pressing long and hard against my stomach, and I tug at the strands of his hair, kissing him with a fervor I didn’t know I was capable of delivering. God, I need him. I need his hands on my every curve and the soft flesh of his mouth caressing every inch of my skin.
But he gives me neither.
Before my brain has even registered that he’s placed me back on my feet, my body is mourning the loss of his closeness, and my tongue, the taste of his mouth. His forehead is pressed to mine, his chest heaving with each one of his ragged breaths, and as the warmth of it dances over my wet, swollen lips, I keep my eyes closed. I’m afraid to look at him. Afraid of what I might feel when I do.
Silence is loud in the air, yet the pumping of the blood in my veins and the pounding beats of my heart are drowning it out. A minute passes. Or five. Maybe ten. I'm really not sure. It's not until Sam’s raw and gritty voice cuts through our cloud of body heat that I realize neither of us has made an effort to move.
“I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, his still pressed against it, and fight my body’s initial reaction to wince. He’s regretting this. He regretted it before it even happened. Why does that make my heart hurt? Finally lifting my lashes, I catch a glimpse of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip, and I struggle to not look in his eyes.
“I, uh…” He breathes out, and his thought momentarily breaks as the ball in his throat moves on a forced swallow. “I’m going to go now.”
I nod, not knowing what to say or do. My body is still alive from the feeling of him all over it, and as much as I want to experience that again, I need to let him go. I need to let him leave because I have not the slightest clue what any of this means and I need time to process it.
Sam takes the first step back, putting even more distance between us, and it's now that I gather enough courage to tilt my head and glance up at him. His expression is hard to read, not giving away much at all as far as what thoughts may be running through that mind of his, and I catch myself holding my breath for his reaction. He does exactly as he said he was going to, and without any indication as to whether or not he'll be back or even if I'll ever hear from him again, he turns around and walks out of the door.
A sudden brewing of tears stings the corner of my eyes, and I blink, fast, trying to ward them off. What the hell did I just do? Guilt crashes into me, violent and fierce, and I stumble back against the arm of my couch, unable to breathe. I kissed him back, and if he hadn’t stopped me, I would have let him continue. For those few lust-induced moments, my body would have been completely his for the taking.
Pulling myself together enough to move, I grab my phone from my coffee table, my fingers shaking as I scroll through my contact list. I need to call Jenny. She is my voice of reason. She’ll know what to say. Finding her entry, I press the call button and bring my phone to my ear. The line rings twice before she answers.
“Hello.”
In one single blink, the tears finally escape my eyes, soaking my cheeks as their salty wetness settles on my lips. “Jen.” Her name comes out on a sob.
“Cass?” Panic fills her tone. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I kissed him.” I screw my eyes shut, swallowing a lungful of air, as my fingers rub against the frown creasing my forehead. “I mean, he kissed me. We kissed each other.” Any composure I have managed to keep completely flies out of the window, and the overwhelming emotion stealing my breath and constricting my chest has me slumping down on the couch. “I didn’t stop him, Jenny. I didn’t push him away. I should have—”
“Cassi, stop. Calm down, okay? I need you to calm down and just breathe. I can’t possibly talk to you when you’re hyperventilating.”
I do as she asks, taking a deep breath and filling my lungs to capacity before releasing the air slowly through pursed lips, repeatedly.
“Are you okay now?”
I nod, sniffing back the fresh round of tears readying themselves to spillover. “Yeah. I think I’m good.”
“Listen to me, Cass. I don’t know what happen, but what I do know, is that you didn’t push him away for a reason, and whatever reason that is, I think you need to explore it. Everything you’ve told me about him, well, he seems like a great guy, and it’s obvious he cares about you... he could be good for you, Cass. You could be good for each other.”
“But Adam—”
“He’d want you to be happy.”
“I don’t know how to be happy without him.”
“But you do, you do because I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the smile on your face and the sparkle that has returned to your eyes over the course of the past six weeks. And you can’t feel guilty about that. You need to let that guilt go, Cassi, otherwise you’ll never be able to move forward. You’ll never once again know what it’s like to not hurt.”
CURLED DEEP INTO the corner of the couch—my arms tightly wrapped around the sofa pillow—I stare blankly out of the patio doors. The moon has replaced the sun in the sky, shrouding the remains of the day in darkness except for its pale, white glow. It’s been nearly ten hours since Sam left. The taste of him still lingers on my tongue, his touch,
on my skin.
The urge to send him a message or call him has had me picking up my phone several times, but I can never bring myself to do either. I’m in turmoil. My heart is broken. It has been for the last seventeen months, and I don’t know how to begin to mend it, but as I sit here, replaying mine and Jenny’s conversation over in my head, I can’t help but think, maybe it’s not me who needs to mend it at all. Perhaps, I need to let someone else do it for me.
Sitting up, I glance down at my phone, debating again whether or not to call him, when the screen lights up with a new text message notification.
It’s from Sam.
My heart beats a little faster as I pick up my phone from its resting place on the couch cushion and unlock the screen to read the message.
I’m sorry.
I close my eyes, feeling the pain of his words stab through my chest. Why does he keep apologizing? Does he not realize those two tiny words are making this so much worse? Gathering all the courage I can find, I tap my fingers against the virtual keyboard, typing out a message and hitting reply.
Do you regret it?
The little dots appear, and my heart slides up into my throat as I wait for his response. Why did I ask that? I don’t want to know the answer, not really. I close my eyes, wishing I could unsend my message, and my phone begins to vibrate in my hand, Sam’s name flashing boldly across the screen.
Fuck.
Panicking, I quickly send the call to voicemail and drop my phone as if it’s a hot cast iron in my hands. Another message comes through, and this time I don’t pick up my phone, but lean over it and stare down at the bubble of words that float across the screen.
Answer the phone, Cassi. Please.
My brain doesn’t even have time to process his request before my ringtone is going off again, my phone vibrating across the cushion in my direction, as if it, too, is demanding me to answer it.
I swallow the nerves that have risen into my throat, and swipe my phone up, answering the call.
“Cassi?”
I can’t speak. I can’t open my mouth to get the words out.
“Listen, I know you’re there, and it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. I just—I didn’t want to say what I have to say through text. I want you to hear it right from my mouth, Cass.”
There is a brief pause of silence on the line before he continues.
“I didn’t regret kissing you. In fact, I’m sorry, that I’m not sorry at all for doing it. I know you’re hurting. I know you’re still in love with Adam and that is the only reason I walked out of your door earlier. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for, but when I’m around you, I can’t control the way I feel. And I feel for you, Cassi. A lot. More than I ever imagined I would. And these feelings, while I don’t know exactly what they are or what they mean, I know they scare me. They scare me probably just as much, if not more, than they scare you, but I don’t want to walk away from you. I don’t want to wonder what we could have been because we’re too scared to take a single step forward to find out.”
“Sam—” I try to cut him off, but he keeps on speaking.
“I know I said you didn’t have to say anything, but I need to ask you something, Cass. I need your answer because I need to know if I’m attempting to fight an already losing battle.”
My voice is a whisper. “Okay.”
“Do you want to step forward with me? Do you want to take a chance on us and discover what we could be?”
His words steal the breath right out of me, and I bite down on my lip, feeling a heady warmth roll from my chest all the way down to the tips of my toes. “That was two questions.”
He laughs, and the sound makes my stomach lurch. “So it was.”
The line grows quiet, save for the sound of his breathing, and it’s almost as if I can hear his heart whispering to me—begging me to agree.
“Yes.” I clear my throat and speak louder, making sure he hears me. “The answer’s yes.”
Although he says nothing, at least not at first, I swear I can hear his smile as it plays out across his face. “Saturday night. Can I take out?”
“Like on a date?”
“Yes, Cassi. Like on a date.”
My lips curl into a smile. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
I nod, as if he can see the movement. “Yes, okay.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
I’M NERVOUS—LIKE, really nervous.
Sam and I have known each other for nearly seven weeks. Our friendship has been easy, full of laughter and tons of smiles, but tonight is different. Tonight, I’m going to see him for the first time since we kissed, and there is a swarm of butterflies flying through my veins, making my entire body feel as though it’s floating just a few feet off the ground. It’s a high I don’t know how to get down from.
Eight years. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve been on a first date. I’m not even sure I know how to ‘first-date’ anymore. I’ve had all week to prepare for this night, and yet here I am, palms sweaty, stomach in knots, and wrapped up in my towel because I have not the slightest idea what to wear. In terms of dressing up, I haven't had to make an effort, but tonight, I want to. Tonight, I want to feel beautiful.
Sighing and walking away from the mirror, I sift through the top drawer of my dresser, fishing through the solid-color, cotton undergarments. Everything is boring and plain; a far cry from confident and sexy. While I have absolutely no expectations as to how this night will end—especially because I’m not even sure I’ll allow myself to reach that place—boosting my confidence with a sexy...
Wait a minute.
Slamming my drawer shut with my hip, I dart to the end of my bed and drop to my knees, lifting the lid to the ottoman in front of me. Tucked inside are the delicate scraps of black lace I shoved in there just a week ago, and as I pull them out, I shake my head and grin.
Fucking Jenny.
I make a mental note to call and thank her later and quickly slip into the bra and panties that clearly serve no purpose except to be ripped off and flung across a room. Picking up a few articles of clothing amongst the many options I had chosen to wear for the evening, I finish getting dressed and make it into the living room to wait for Sam with ten minutes to spare.
My hair is curled into loose ribbons, a few strands pinned to the back of my head, and I've decided to keep my makeup minimal by applying just the essentials: powder, eyeliner, mascara and chapstick.
I'm waiting only five minutes before my doorbell chimes, the sound of it echoing in the house causing that swarm of butterflies to reawaken from their momentary dormant state. I stand from my position on the couch and smooth my hands over my jean skirt. My black-heeled boots clicking against the hardwood floor, I stop in front of the door, take a quick breath, and pull it open.
Sam’s standing just on the other side, dressed in a pair of faded, denim-washed jeans, a dark gray Henley, and his usual, black leather jacket. In his hand is a beautiful bouquet of white lilies, one that I'm assuming he has brought for me but has neglected to pass over because his eyes haven't moved from my figure.
“Wow...”
The word floats out of his mouth on a low gasp, and my cheeks immediately flush with heat. “What?”
“You look… you look beautiful.”
I stare down at my clothing—a navy blue, V-neck sweater with matching fleece tights and a jean skirt—and frown. “What? In these old things? Thank you, I'm flattered, really, but they're just my ordinary clothes. Nothing special.”
Sam steps forward, his free hand sliding around my hip and to the small of my back, and he pulls me closer. “Maybe, but the woman wearing them is far from ordinary.” Soft lips brush against my forehead, placing a feather-light kiss against it, and my toes curl in my boots. “And the truth of the matter is, Cass, it's the first time I actually get to verbalize that thought and not feel guilty about it—not feel like I’m doing something wrong by admitting it.”<
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It’s now that I realize how difficult a position this has been for him. I’ve always felt the connection between us. I felt it every time I looked into his eyes, or in his gentle touch. I see it now as I stare at him in awe, my heart pitter-pattering away in my chest. “Sam—”
“Here.” He cuts me off, finally handing me the bouquet of lilies. “These are for you.”
A genuine smile curls my lips, and I take the flowers from his hands, bringing them to my nose and closing my eyes as I inhale their fragrant scent. “I’m going to just go and put these in a vase of water really quick and then we can go.”
“Take your time. Our dinner reservation is not for another forty minutes.”
“WHERE ARE WE going now?”
Sam grins as we step out of the entrance to the restaurant, a fancy upscale number in the heart of the city, and begin to stroll down the sidewalk, arm in arm. “Relax. If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?”
“A surprise?” I look over at him, squinting one eye and smirking. “Was taking me to Le Petit Chateau not surprise enough?”
He shrugs. “Maybe, but honestly, I know the owner, and he kind of owed me a favor. Don’t come to expect such lavish outings. Usually, I’m a cheap bastard.”
I stare at him a moment, looking in his eyes and trying really hard to see if I can catch a spark of humor in them. Although we've only known each other for a relatively short time, I can usually decipher the difference between playful Sam and serious Sam, but tonight, this all feels so new. “Really?”
Shaking his head, a laugh slips from his mouth, and he leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “No, Cass. I’m kidding. I do know the owner, though, and he may have had opened up a reservation for me.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I would have been good with cheap.”
“I know.” He smiles. “It’s just one of the things I love about you.”
My entire body tenses, and I try hard to play it off as if his words haven’t just thrown me completely off balance. Love. Hearing him say that word when referring to me, in any context, causes my heart to race. Could I love Sam? I immediately shake my head and rid myself of the thought, looking away and glancing at the little shops lining the cobblestone sidewalks. Now that we’re well into November, the large glass window fronts are decorated with Christmas lights and garlands, brightening the town in holiday cheer. Couples walk with their arms entwined, sipping on hot chocolate and taking in the festive sights. It’s something Adam and I used to do every year, and the memory washes over me, bringing with it a wave of sadness. I don’t want to think of him when I’m out with Sam, but when you loved someone so much for a large portion of your life, it’s hard to carry on as if they were never a part of it. My heart belonged to Adam. It still does. And I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back to be able to give it to someone else.
