by Sam Mariano
“Mm, don’t do that,” she complains, looking at my hands locked around her wrists.
“Don’t do what?”
“Your sexy wrist lock move. Don’t do that. Why can’t I make a cake?”
“Because you’ve already consumed your weight in sugar tonight, and you’re drunk, so you’ll probably set your apartment on fire. Not that I wouldn’t jump on the excuse to move you out of this one, but arson probably isn’t the way to go.”
“Did you ever cook when you were a kid? I used to get these big ideas in my head of grand breakfasts I wanted to make my parents, but I wasn’t allowed to use the stove without supervision, so I would whip up these horrific omelet-like creations, and then I wouldn’t be able to cook them. One time my parents got up before everything spoiled and they cooked it for me, but it was so gross, they fed it to the dog.”
“I bet the dog was happy.”
She shakes her head. “Nope. Even the dog didn’t want it.”
Smiling faintly, I tell her, “If this is your way of convincing me to let you make a cake, you’re gonna want to rethink your approach.”
“But you love when I serve you,” she teases.
“I do. How ‘bout you make me breakfast in the morning when you’re sober? That sounds like a better plan.”
She has reached the playful drunk point. She shakes her head at me, a teasing smile on her face. “You can’t stay the night. Bad things happen when you spend the night.”
I shake my head, tugging her wrists and pulling her closer until I can grab her and pull her against my chest. “Good things happen when I spend the night.”
“Don’t make me horny,” she reprimands. “Nothing good can come from you making me horny.”
“We have different definitions of good, clearly.”
“Rafe,” she says, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.
I run the tip of my index finger over the bridge of her nose, right where she has that cute little dusting of freckles. “I’ve missed these.”
Virginia sighs, wraps her arms around my neck, and hugs me. “Stop making it so damn hard to be strong. I have to tell you no this time. It was too hard when I said yes.”
“I know,” I murmur, securing my arms around her waist and pulling her close.
“I can’t deal with you dumping me again. I adore you, you know I do, but I can’t go through that again. Floating so high, and to be thrown right off my cloud. It sucked. I was so happy, and then you knocked my legs right out from under me over nothing. I just can’t.”
“I was happy, too,” I tell her.
“If you were happy, then why did you ruin it?” she demands. Before I can even think about answering, she says, “That was a rhetorical question. I know why, but it still sucks. Understanding doesn’t make it any less frustrating.” Finally, she pulls away. “The point is, I’m not doing that again. I can’t. I don’t know how much more my feelings for you can endure before they break, and neither of us wants that.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Virginia.”
“I know you’re not, Rafe. But unrequited love hurts. It just does. That’s how it works.” She shakes her head like I’m simple not to know that, then wanders down the hall. “I’m sleepy. Lock my door on your way out.”
I already locked her door, but she was too worried about baking a damned cake to notice. I walk back in her kitchen and hit the light, then I head through the dark apartment to her bedroom. She didn’t bother turning on the light, but she’s standing with her back to me, taking her bra off. Her work shirt has already been discarded, but her pants are still on.
Her hair is down. I love when her hair is down. I saunter up behind her just as she drops her bra, and I bring my hands up to cup her breasts and take their place.
“Let me help you with that,” I murmur, brushing my lips across her shoulder.
Sighing, she says, “Rafe…”
“I won’t fuck you,” I promise, massaging her breasts, squeezing them as I nuzzle her neck. “I just want to touch you. Just let me touch you, Virginia.”
“Remember when I told you not to make me horny?” She mutters her complaint on a sigh, arching her back and letting her head fall back on my shoulder.
Smiling faintly, I run my lips up the side of her neck. “I think I do remember something about that.”
“You’re failing in that mission. Leaving me hot and bothered is mean, and giving me an orgasm would be worse. There’s no happy way out of the hot water you’re steeping us in right now.”
“Then we might as well enjoy it,” I tell her.
“That’s hedonistic logic,” she mutters at me.
“I’m nothing if not a hedonist,” I point out.
“That’s true.”
I kiss her neck and soak up the way she sighs with pleasure. “I want to take you to a bookstore.”
“Isn’t that like a marriage proposal for you?” she says dryly.
I crack a smile. “Close.”
Both our tones were light and tinged with irony, but hers grows serious when she continues on.
“Don’t fuck with my head, Rafe. Last time I could pretend you didn’t know what you were doing, that you didn’t mean to hurt me, but this time… this time you know. If you hurt me again, it’s not a mistake, it’s a choice, and I’m going to hold you accountable.”
That’s the only thing that keeps me from giving in to my baser urges, dragging her over to her bed, and fucking her until she can’t take anymore. Not that she would hold me accountable, but that I would.
My silence stretches on for too long. Virginia gives up on me, turns around, and offers me a sad smile. She traces my lips with her index finger and says quietly, “A hedonist always seeks pleasure and avoids pain. Falling for one is just about the dumbest thing a person can do.”
I can’t disagree with her. Falling for me is the dumbest thing she’s ever done. Once upon a time, her intelligence was the sole reason I thought people were crazy for thinking she had. I thought she knew better. Emotions aren’t always logical, though.
“Do you wish you hadn’t?” I ask, simply.
She watches my lips for a moment, then meets my gaze, a fond smile in her eyes. “No. Does that make me a masochist?”
I shake my head, catching her arm and running my fingertips down the sensitive underside. “No. You don’t enjoy the pain, you’re just willing to endure it for what you love.”
Smiling faintly, she asks, “Then what does that make me?”
I drift closer, until my forehead touches hers. “Perfect.”
We stay like that for a moment, our breath mingling, our bodies too close for friendship, but we toe the line. Or we tell ourselves we do, because our lips never meet.
“You can’t stay the night,” she finally whispers.
“I know,” I murmur back.
We stay like that for a minute, then Virginia pushes her fingers through my hair and leans her forehead heavily against mine. “I need you to leave.”
Leaving is the best thing I can do for her right now, so I nod my head in agreement, but my feet don’t move. I don’t want to leave, but I can’t justify staying either. I can’t take the risk that I only want her because I can’t have her. I can’t risk losing her.
After a moment, amusement lightening her tone, she says, “You’re not leaving.”
“I’m working on it,” I tell her. “Give me another minute.”
“Did you forget the way to the door?” she asks, leaning her forehead away from mine, but staying close enough that our chests touch. “Is that what you’re working on? Should I draw you a map?”
“No, I’m trying to figure out something else. Call it a philosophical pause.”
Cocking her head, she regards me curiously, some of the lust fog clearing so she can think more clearly. “Care to share? I might be able to help.”
I shake my head. “No. I have a soft guess, and I’m not sure it changes anything, so it wouldn’t be fair to lead you to the sam
e conclusion.”
Sighing like I’m killing her, she braces her hands on my chest. “Tell me.”
Now I have something she wants. Now I have something to dangle.
Taking the upper hand while I have it, I grasp her wrists and lean back, separating our bodies. “Nah, you’re right, I’ll just go.”
“Rafe Morelli,” she scolds as I drop her wrists.
I grin to myself as I turn around and exit her bedroom. “Good night, Virginia.”
Predictably, she chases after me. “Rafe, come back and tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Can’t. You need me to leave.”
“Damn you, Rafe. Don’t make me beg.”
I pause and glance back over my shoulder, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you willing to beg?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “No.”
I nod my head. “Cool. See you tomorrow, then.”
“Why do you play with me like this?” she asks, mildly complaining, but also indulgent. She can bitch all she wants, but she fucking likes it, or she wouldn’t like me. I torture her all the time. I’m almost to the door, so she finally sighs heavily and says, “Please? Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
I can feel her practically on top of me, so I stop short and pivot, catching her unaware. She gasps and falls back a step, but I catch her wrists again so I can hold onto her. The room is dark since I already shut the light off. The only stream of light is the moonlight spilling in through her living room window, but it’s enough to see her bare breasts heaving as I back her up against the wall.
Virginia looks up at me—so beautiful, so vulnerable. Even with a sheen of wariness in her brown eyes, there’s so much trust lying underneath. I probably can trust her. Virginia has put me ahead of her own self-interest time and again.
I’m the real problem. I’m the unreliable one. I don’t know how to guarantee I’ll feel how I feel now forever, I don’t know how to be sure I’ll never hurt her, never drive her away.
Forget forever, I don’t even know how to be sure I won’t hurt her from one day to the next. I hate to be that asshole, but the truth is, if I really wanted to protect her, I’d stay the hell away from her.
I want her to be happy, but only as happy as she can be still tied to me. I don’t want to keep hurting her, but I can’t promise I won’t bail her out of work and drag her out with me again next time I miss her company and want more of it, either.
I hate making her cry, but I keep doing it.
The confusing thing is, I am a man who has become comfortable in his selfishness. I am not accustomed to feeling guilt—not anymore, at least. Once upon a time when I was younger, greener, sure, I might have felt guilt. Laurel asked me once if I could be happy at someone else’s expense. I didn’t hesitate to assure her I could, and I didn’t feel guilty for that answer, either. But I do feel guilty for hurting Virginia. I know she doesn’t deserve it, and that might play a part, but the real question is: why the fuck does it matter? I do bad things to people who don’t deserve it all the time. I hurt people for my own gain all the time. That’s business. That’s life. That’s the way it goes.
I take what I want, and I don’t apologize for it.
Except for now.
I want Virginia. It’s not a passing feeling, either. I don’t want her any less now than I did months ago, when she brought me break-up cheesecake after I broke her heart.
So why am I fighting it? I can have her, if I really want her. I can plant her against this wall right now and trap her mouth beneath mine, kiss her until she’s senseless. Until she wants me too much to say no. I can plant my hands under her ass and lift her, I can carry her to her bedroom and toss her on her messy bed. I can kiss those breasts, bite that skin, fuck that pussy. I know how wet she would be already. I know how fucking much I want to.
I know I could, but I don’t do it, because I know there’s a good chance she will end up hurt if I do.
I want to have her, and I want to protect her, and I can’t do both.
But what would compel a man such as myself, a selfish, hedonistic asshole out for his own pleasure, completely capable of minimizing personal guilt to the point of non-existence… why am I on pause for this one fucking woman?
I think I might be in love with her.
Or maybe I’m past that. In love is when it feels good, not when it hurts. In love is when you spend every morning tangled up in one another, not when you’re stuck between two hard choices, and you choose the one that hurts the other person less.
Maybe I love her.
Love is the only reason to put others ahead of yourself, after all. I love her enough that I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m selfish enough that I won’t let go.
We’re in a hell of a situation here. One of us has to blink, or we’re going to live paused lives together until one of us dies.
As if she can hear my thoughts, she stares at me now, unblinking. “Well? What are you thinking?”
“You have to blink first. I don’t want it to be me.”
Virginia frowns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t want it to be you, either,” I add. “I don’t want it to be either one of us, but we’re both fucked until one of us decides not to be. I’m not a good person. I’ll take advantage of you if you let me.”
Her eyes soften, and she brings her hand to my face. “That’s not true.”
“It is. I’ll take as much as I can from you to satisfy my desires, but I won’t give you what you need. I’m gonna drain you, Virginia. Like a fucking vampire. I’m going to suck all the love out of you and leave you empty.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, and I realize it’s the truth. I’m gonna prey on this fucking girl, because she’s going to let me. Because she likes being my human blood bag, and she thinks she can take it.
I’m going to become the thing I hate, and she is going to be my willing victim.
I don’t want that.
“No, you’re not,” she tells me, her eyes imploring. “I’m nowhere near empty, Rafe. Being around you fills me up, it doesn’t deplete me.”
Lifting my eyebrows, I say, “No?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head in denial. “I was a little sad tonight, that’s all. You don’t make me cry that often.”
“Jesus Christ.” I cradle her face in my hand, and she nuzzles right into it. “Virginia, listen to yourself. I don’t make you cry that often.”
Meeting my gaze, she says more firmly, “You made me cry when you dumped me, yes. That’s normal. Lots of people cry when they get dumped. You didn’t make me cry tonight, I did. I wallowed in old feelings. I had too much to drink and became Sad Drunk Girl for a minute. My choices are my own, Rafe. I can see where you’re going with this, and you need to stop before you get there, because I’m not having it. I decide who is important to me. I decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to unilaterally pull that ‘I’m bad for you’ bullshit. I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with, but no. If you don’t want to do this anymore, if our relationship is getting too heavy for you, then be a man and say that. Don’t be a coward and try to blame it on looking out for my well-being.”
I shake my head at her. “That is not at all what I’m doing.”
“Good,” she says, stubborn as hell. I forgot alcohol made Virginia stubborn. I need to remember that for next time.
“Tell me something,” I venture.
She watches me, unspeaking.
“What’s it going to take for you to finally tell me no?”
Cocking a dark eyebrow, she tells me, “I just told you no five minutes ago. I’ve been telling you no all night. Maybe you need to do some memory sharpening tricks.”
I cut her a dry look. “You know that’s not what I mean. I mean for real.”
“I did tell you no for real,” she insists.
“Okay. If I told you right now, ‘I need to get off, and if you don’t fuck me, I’ll go fuck someone else,’
what would you do?”
“Yell at you?” she suggests.
“And then?”
“Glare at you,” she says matter-of-factly.
I crack a smile. “Fast forward past your sassy little attitude. You’d fuck me,” I state.
Annoyance flits across her features. “Are you approaching a point, or are you just fantasizing about how best to piss me off?”
I probably am going to piss her off, but I go ahead and say it anyway. “The night Nicky was born, I gave you the same choice, and you left.”
“And?”
“I’m wearing you down, Virginia. Whether you want to admit it or not, I am.”
“No. Your process is flawed,” she tells me. “You didn’t wear me down; our circumstances changed. I hadn’t fucked you then. I knew I needed to avoid fucking you, so I left, and if someone else did it in my place, so be it. Now we are in a post-coital world. I have already fucked you. Would it potentially damage me to sleep with you now? Sure, probably. Would it hurt me more to let you leave and sleep with someone else? Definitely. We aren’t together, so you don’t owe me fidelity, and you’re giving me the courtesy of a choice. If you’re telling me you have an itch that needs scratched, and it will be scratched tonight, it’s up to me who does the scratching… Then I am making the choice that minimizes my pain, not treating myself like a sacrificial lamb. Don’t patronize me by implying I’m not adequately equipped to make my own decisions, Rafe. This is just another form of you trying to escape the hangman’s noose, I swear to God.” As if I’m a horse, she pets the side of my head. “Calm down, boy, no one’s trying to saddle you.”
I can’t quite stifle a little smile at her audacity. “You little shit.”
Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “I’m just saying, someone’s getting a little skittish. Maybe a snack will settle you down. Want me to see if I can find you a sugar cube in the kitchen? Maybe an apple?”
I nod. “Keep it up, sweetheart; I’ll give you something to ride.”
Grinning up at me, she says, “Are you threatening me? Will you fuck someone else if I say no? Should I wilt? Cower? Faint? I’m not sure what sacrificial lambs are supposed to do, so you’re going to have to help me out. Is there a handbook I can consult? Maybe a course I can take? Self-Sacrifice 101?”