by Sara Hubbard
“Come on. I’ll make you some food,” he says.
Food definitely sounds good. When I climb out and feel the pavement, I wince in pain. I lift my left foot and see nothing, but there is a cut bleeding on my right foot.
Michael rounds the front of the car. “What’s wrong?”
“My foot’s bleeding.”
He comes in closer, crouches and takes a better look. After muttering a curse, he swoops me up into his arms. I squeal in surprise, but don’t ask to be put down. My poor feet would rather him carry me. I wrap my arms around his neck and look up at his beautiful face, even bruised and beaten. He tips his head down and shakes his head. “You’re infuriating.”
“I know.”
“How about while I look after your foot, you think about telling me the truth?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He holds me up with one hand while unlocking his door. At his kitchen island, he sets me down and I slide back so my knees reach the edge of the counter. My legs dangle, and I lift the cut foot to analyze it further.
“Give me a minute,” he says.
I pluck out some dirt and a tiny little rock that managed to embed itself in my skin. Man, it smarts. Michael returns with a first-aid kit.
He gets me to turn my body so my foot can reach the sink in the middle of the island. After running the water for a few seconds, he guides my foot into the sink. The warm water stings my skin, and he gently washes my foot while I watch him work. When he’s finished, he pats my foot dry and wraps it with gauze before ripping the end down the middle and tying it on the top of my foot.
It still stings and throbs, but the intensity dies down to where I can forget about it.
“Thanks,” I say.
He places his hands on the granite counters, trapping me between them and putting me firmly in his personal space. He smells so good, like a forest after a rain. Fresh, clean, sexy. I could eat him. He’s too close for me to think clearly. Brad never smelled this good. Not even on his best day.
“Talk,” he says.
I tip my head forward and my hair shelters me from his penetrating gaze. He dips his head to meet my eyes and forces me to look up again.
I start with Trent because that conversation is easier. “Did you ask Trent to look out for me tonight?”
He scratches his cheek and frowns. “Maybe.”
“Why?”
“I told you before. I protect people I care about.”
“It wasn’t necessary, and it came off possessive.”
He shrugs. “I’m not going to apologize for it, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
I growl at him. For the first time since I met him, I find him infuriating. He’s pretty much said ‘this is the way it is, deal with it.’ I don’t think so. “It made me feel like I did something wrong. That you don’t trust me.”
He sighs and nods, looking away for a brief moment. “It only takes one mistake, one wrong move, for someone to get hurt. It has nothing to do with trust or doing something wrong and everything to do with...making sure you stay safe. You can fight with me about it all you want, but it won’t change anything. You’re going to have to accept it if you want me in your life.”
Want him how? As a friend? A lover? A girlfriend? He won’t look at me, but I can’t take my eyes off him. My anger fades so quickly I wonder if I was angry at all. I hear what he’s saying, but I also read between the lines and see what he’s not saying. Like me, he worries about forever. For me, it’s getting rejected. But for him? It’s death. Losing someone in such a final way that you have no hope of ever getting someone back. They’re so different, but in some ways the same. And because they’re similar, I understand him. And, by God, if it doesn’t make me overcome with love for him. The word is on the tip of my tongue, ready to be said. I grit my teeth and hold it in. it overcomes me, filling my chest and warming me to my core. I love him. And I want him—all of him—body, mind and soul. It’s not like any guy before where I felt like I needed them more than I wanted them. I could live without Michael, but I don’t want to.
“I care about you, too,” I say, “but I’m not going to get my friends to spy on you to keep you safe.”
“It’s different.”
“How?” I ask, because I see where this conversation is going. I’m not angry anymore. But I need to challenge him because I hate double standards.
“You’re a girl.”
“You realize how sexist that sounds, right?”
“Out of curiosity, why’d Trent jump in?” he asks.
“I was talking to a guy I had a class with last year.”
He clears his throat and adjusts his stance. “Talking?”
“He put his arm around me. It was no big deal.”
His jealousy shines through in the flush of his cheeks and the set of his jaw.
“We were just talking.”
He shrugs. “Not my business, I guess.”
“Don’t do that.”
He runs a hand through his hair and shoves his hands in his pockets as he backs away. “I can’t keep doing this, Em. You’re driving me crazy.”
“I know. I’m driving myself crazy.”
We pass a long silence. I want to tell him how I’m feeling, why I’m afraid, and why it’s better to keep things the way they are, but I’m losing steam when it comes to excuses. As I stare at his defeated-looking face, I toss all those reasons to the curb. I’m not sure how long I can fight my feelings for him. He seems to fight the same battle, but I need to be sure that this isn’t just about sex for him.
“I had a run in with Chloe.”
His jaw twitches, but he says nothing.
“What did you love about her? She must have something special if you finally gave in to her. The only girlfriend who ever stole your heart? And don’t tell me it’s because she was persistent. I think there’s more to it than that.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Strands stick up and yet it makes him look even sexier. He rests his body weight against the counter opposite the island. Then he crosses his feet and folds his arms across his middle. He studies me. I want to get in his head, but I also don’t. I’m not immune to jealousy, certainly not when it comes to Chloe.
“She let me see a side of her she didn’t share with many people.”
That you know of is what I want to say, but I think better of it. It would only hurt him, and if thinking that made him feel special, then I’d rather he goes on believing it.
“She’s gone through some bad shit, and she lost someone she cared for.”
“And you talked to her about your mom?”
“She understood. I told her things I never told anyone.”
This shouldn’t hurt me, but it does. Like a cut that’s small but mighty and aches for longer than you’d expect. I try to be understanding and want to say something meaningful, but I’m not great at stuff like that. I usually say the wrong thing. Or something inappropriate. “Well, she’s a cunt.”
I don’t mean to say it out loud. It passes through my mind like a feather in the wind. I don’t even realize I’ve actually said those words until his jaw drops open and he stares at me wide-eyed. When the shock wears off, he lets out a long belly laugh. After he collects himself, he shakes his head and saunters forward. He surprises me by wrapping his arms around me and squeezing.
Okay, so he hasn’t asked me to leave yet…
When he breaks away, he presses a kiss to my forehead and his lips linger against my skin, warming not just my forehead but the rest of my chilly body.
“I wish I’d met you a long time ago,” he says, his words breathy. He pulls away and goes to the fridge, taking stuff out, seemingly at random. While watching him, I find myself smiling. This is me in all my glory. I’m not perfect, and I hate myself sometimes for the things I do and say because I often forget to think things through. But Michael not just accepts it, he likes it. He likes me. Warts and all. My smile grows, and when he turns to head to the counter he flashes me
a wink and I think—without question—that tonight I will tell him how I feel. And let the chips fall where they may.
Chapter 19
There’s no question I’m staying over at Michael’s tonight. We don’t even discuss it. I’m done fighting my attraction and my feelings for him. I’m going to tell him. I have to or I’ll lose my mind. I have to trust the signs he’s giving me, that he’s into me, too. Maybe not the same way, but his feelings are there. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith. I was honest when I told him I’d rather have love for a little while than not at all. If I’m being truly honest, I’ve only been hesitating because of my fear of him not loving me back. But I don’t care whether he will or he won’t. I can only control my feelings and just hope he thinks I’m worthy enough to give me his heart.
He leads me up to his bedroom and offers me a T-shirt that’s long enough to wear as a nightie. I leave my underwear on but take off my bra from underneath my shirt while he watches in amazement.
“That’s talent.”
“I’ve had lots of practice.”
“I practice taking off bras, too, but I’m not that good.” He flashes me a cheeky wink.
I climb into bed and, sitting up, I pull all my hair up into a bun on the top of my head. He reaches for the hem of his shirt and yanks it over his head. I stare at him without shame. The way his muscles flex and relax when his arms move is nothing short of mesmerizing.
He slingshots his shirt at me. I bat it away so it lands on the floor. It takes only a minute for him to pick it up, fold it, and put it in his dresser. Then he grabs my pants and shirt and folds them neatly. It’s like living with Charlie again. And I miss it.
After he tidies up his room, he comes to his side of the bed. He unbuckles his belt and slides it through the loops. He actually folds it before placing it on his chair beside the bedside table. Then he unbuckles his jeans and drags them down his legs. I get a bird’s eye view of his ass in briefs and I tip my head to the side to appreciate it. There’s no way I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself tonight. Tell him. Just tell him! I scream in my mind, but I stay the course and wait for him to make the first move, which is so far removed from how I normally operate.
He yanks his underwear down and my lady parts are throbbing. I bite my lip so hard I’m surprised I don’t draw blood.
“I sleep nude,” he says unapologetically, “but don’t go getting any ideas. I’m not that kind of guy.” He looks over his shoulder and grins at me. There’s a fucking dimple in his left ass cheek like on his face, and I want to stick my tongue in it. Sigh.
“Was this your plan all along?” I tease, because our attraction for each other has been abundantly clear. “When you picked me up, were you planning on getting naked and hope I didn’t have the willpower to resist you?”
He shrugs and climbs into bed, but his bent leg obstructs my view as he yanks the sheets up to cover him up to his middle.
“Two can play at that game.” Under the sheets, I wiggle around and take off his shirt. I hold it out over the side of the bed and let it fall to the floor. I tuck the sheets in under my armpits and sweetly say, “Good night.”
A loud sigh fills the room, and I chuckle in response.
“You’re killing me,” he says.
His cock tents under the sheets and I fight laughter, proud of myself for teasing him as much as he’s teasing me. I turn onto my side to face him and he does the same, though it seems uncomfortable for him. He slides a hand under the sheets and adjust himself until he gets comfy.
I can’t stop smiling.
If he hasn’t been inside me by morning, it’ll be a miracle. Blood rushes to the flesh between my legs, and I feel swollen and tingly. The sweet sensation radiates to my stomach and upper thighs. I clench my muscles to fight my desire, but it does nothing to relieve it.
I nuzzle my face into the pillow, and he does the same. We’re inches apart, staring at each other. Both of us eager, but neither of us willing to make the first move. I want it to be him. To take control and show me what he wants. But I also want him to tell me how he feels. I need him to say it. I don’t want to be another girl he flirts with. I want him to want more than sex from me. I want him to want me.
“Talk to me,” he says.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Anything but my raging hard-on.”
I laugh long and hard. When I settle back down, I focus on his beautiful eyes. In bed naked, staring at each other while we lie on our sides, feels incredibly intimate. It’s nice. Perfect. And with a sigh, I want to preserve it for as long as I can, no matter how much my body craves him.
“I like this,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“A lot.”
“Me, too.” His hand rests on the sheets between us, by his chest. I lower my hand and cover his with one of mine. He splays his fingers, and I thread them through his. A fire lights inside of me. And it’s not too dissimilar from the clichéd feelings of butterflies dancing in your belly. I close my eyes, feeling almost shy. When I open them, he looks at me with a slight smile on his lips. It’s like he’s looking at me all the way down to my soul.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” he says with a scowl.
“You have no idea what I’m thinking.”
“I do. You’re an open book to me. You’re worrying about us and what will happen tomorrow.”
“I can’t help it. I don’t want to get this wrong.” I swallow hard. Emotions flood me, and they’re hard to sort through. I want to reach out and pull him close, but I also want to crush his mouth with mine. I want to tell him I want him more than a friend and for more than just sex—as if that isn’t already obvious.
“My stepmom would love you,” he says, surprising me.
“Really?” I grin from ear to ear. Everyone wants a guy’s parents to like them, especially one you’re crushing on—and I am, more so than I thought possible. A guy like Michael deserves an amazing girl, one who will give him every single piece of her. Though I still feel broken, I want to try.
“You know where you stand with her and she appreciates someone who’s real.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re one of the most genuine girls I’ve ever met. You have no idea how sexy that is.”
“You’re right, I don’t. Tell me about it.”
He chuckles. “And I love your sense of humor. And your honesty.”
At that, I frown. I didn’t tell him everything about my conversation with Chloe. So I tell him now.
He’s quiet for a long time. I expect the worst, even think about telling him not to respond because it would sting too much. He speaks before I get the chance. “She’s wrong. You know that, right?”
I shrug. “Do I?”
“I was never infatuated with her. She pushed me a lot. I have a temper—I admit it. She liked to make me jealous to the point where I’d end up getting in fights over her. And she fucking loved it. If I ever loved her, it fizzled over the summer when she pitted me against one of my oldest friends. I almost left her when I realized she was doing it for attention, but she promised she’d stop, and I gave her a second chance. Things were better, sort of…and then you told me about her. I was rude to you, and I still feel awful about it. I wasn’t devastated because my heart was broken. I was pissed off because I felt like a fucking moron. She played me. And I let her. I was madder at myself than you or her. Fuck. You did nothing wrong. You were just being a friend. I appreciate it. Not sure if I told you that before.”
I cover his hand with mine, and we hold hands again. I inch forward, the small distance between us feels like miles. He follows my lead and pulls the pillows away until our bare arms are touching, my leg is half over his and my toes slide over his foot.
“Charlie thought you were really into Chloe, too. So when Chloe told me earlier you’re trying to get her back but she won’t have you, I kind of believed her.”
“She said what?” he says, amusement plain in the curl
of his lips.
“She said she had proof.”
He shakes his head, the stubble on his face scratching against his cotton pillows.
“I would never take her back. I wouldn’t even consider it. Fool me once, shame on you, blah blah blah. But that’s not the only reason why I wouldn’t.”
“No?”
He shakes his head. “If anything happened between us, you wouldn’t be a rebound, Em. You’d be a fucking miracle… My miracle.”
My heart lifts in my chest. It’s exactly what I need to give me confidence about us, and I can’t hide the dopey smile it forces onto my lips. I inch forward again. He opens his arms, and I rest my head on his bicep while his arms encircle mine. When my small breasts touch his chest, they swell with desire. He lowers his hand to rest on the small of my back, and then he pulls me in so I can feel his erection against my leg. His eyes close, and he sucks in a breath. “I want to own every piece of you.”
He lays a hand on my breast, over my heart, and I swear to God I forget to breathe. His hand slides down the valley between my breasts, and he strokes my skin with the back of his hand all the way down my stomach, continuing to the mound between my legs. He cups my sex and presses his lips against my earlobe. “Inside and out.” He teases my lips open and dips a finger into my hot, wet center and I moan loudly. “If you don’t want this, tell me now. There’s no going back after this.”
“Yes,” I say, through labored breaths. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
He rolls over on top of me and props his weight up on his elbows. He stares deep into my eyes and smiles at me. “You’re so beautiful.” I take his face in my hands and pull him close. His lips crash down onto mine, and he pushes his cock against my sex, the only barrier between us my flimsy underwear. With a growl, he fists the hem of the fabric and deftly rips them off of me.