by Claire Cain
“I missed you.” He breathed it, more than said it, and I turned to look at him.
Chapter Thirteen
He was still studying my face, his eyes moving back and forth between my own. He must have seen the confusion in them, but it felt like he might kiss me. I stood up abruptly, the confused and hurt side of my brain winning out over simpler desire to crush my body against his now that it was in my vicinity.
He watched as I walked to the kitchen, took another sip of wine, and put my half-empty glass in the sink, studiously avoiding his gaze.
“Alex.”
I ignored my name on his lips, even though the sound of him saying it did things to my insides. Not altogether bad things, but things I was choosing to ignore. He stood up and grabbed his glass, still full of wine, and brought it with him into the kitchen. He stopped so our chests were no more than six inches apart. He reached past me, not moving his feet, to place his glass in the sink, his arm brushing the side of my arm, sending goose bumps over my skin.
“Alex. I missed you.” He tilted my chin up toward him so my eyes eventually had to look at him. His look was concerned and gentle and frustrated. He threaded the other hand through one of mine and squeezed it as if it would elicit a response.
“Ok.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking down at our entwined hands. “I guess I’m confused.”
“What about?” He wandered back to the couch, pulling me along with him. He sat sideways, pulling me down so I’d sit too. I sat and then scooted away a few inches to give myself room to breathe.
Being so close to him was making it hard to think, and I hadn’t decided what I wanted to say or how I wanted to handle his coming home. I assumed I would have some notice before I saw him and that it would force me to make a decision. I thought he would be gone at least another week. That was a miscalculation and it left me feeling adrift.
I didn’t want to have to spell out the fact that he’d hurt me by not telling me he was leaving. I didn’t want to have to ask him what he wanted from me, or how he saw us. I wanted him to have the emotional intelligence and the mindreading powers of a fantasy, somehow knowing what I wanted and what I needed before I even recognized it.
Ok, so apparently, I wanted him to be God. Not altogether fair, but there it was.
“You can’t think of any reason I might be confused about you showing up after being gone for almost eight weeks and saying you missed me, and… and looking at me like that?” I gestured with my chin and my elbow since my hand was still in his.
“I’m sorry I caught you off guard.” He looked contrite enough, but it wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.
“That’s no big deal,” I said it quietly to myself, wishing I knew what to do next.
“So, you dated that guy? The one outside Rosita’s?” He squeezed my hand and then let go. Even though holding his hand was making me nervous, I was sad when he released mine.
“We went to dinner just the one time.” I wanted to make sure he knew it wasn’t an ongoing thing. I certainly didn’t need that misunderstanding further confusing things.
“Were you not on a date tonight?” He now had his arms crossed, questioning me, but it felt less like they were crossed in judgment, and more like he’d done it because he didn’t know what else to do with his arms.
“No. Definitely not. We were with a group. He just decided he wanted to walk me home, and I refused him—which is what you saw when you were walking up.”
“Ok.” His arms were still crossed. Something had changed in him—his energy had moved from kind of gooey and warm to a little more reserved.
“Ok… what?” I crossed my own arms, closing myself off to him even though I was sitting facing forward on the couch and he was sitting sideways.
“Ok, I’m glad you’re not dating that dude anymore.” I watched him and saw his jaw clench then, and I could tell he was irritated.
“I wasn’t dating him. It was one date.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to clarify, but I did. I was feeling more frustrated by the minute.
“Ok.” He still hadn’t relaxed again, his arms crossed and jaw ticking away like he was angry with me.
“I’m sorry, but what is happening right now? You’re acting like you’re mad at me, and I do not understand what you’re trying to tell me with your crossed arms and your manly jaw and tight t-shirt and all of that.” I waved at his general position, huffing a bit as I looked at him and trying not to notice the edge of his t-shirt had pulled up just enough to expose a gap of ridiculous, annoying, totally distracting abdomen. I pulled my eyes away when he spoke.
“My manly jaw?” He raised his eyebrows in challenge, his arms still crossed, looking covertly amused.
“Yeah, so not the point. What is up?” I demanded.
“I’m not allowed to be glad you and that guy didn’t hit it off?” He was squinting at me, masking whatever it was he was thinking or feeling.
“Why would you be glad about that? That’s where my confusion is coming in.” I felt my heart rate increasing and could tell I was getting more and more upset. Paired with a long week, a half-empty stomach, and general emotional exhaustion, I was in danger of crying out of frustration, which was absolutely not on my list of things to do in front of him tonight.
He was silent for a moment and so still I thought maybe he was holding his breath. Finally, he let out a breath and his look grew more severe. “Because you should be dating me, not some idiot who tries to order for you.” The edge in his voice was harsh, like he was really mad.
“Uhh, ok. But you realize we weren’t dating when you left, right?” I was reacting to his tone. Even as I felt my heart race with his statement, I felt completely annoyed he was pissed at me for dating someone while he was gone when we weren’t even dating. “We never talked about anything like that. Anytime we did talk about anything even remotely related to our relationship, you pretty much ran away.” I was getting mad. How could he be mad at me?
“I—” He started, but I interrupted.
“Don’t sit there like I did something to betray you. We weren’t dating! I would absolutely not go on a date with another man if I was dating you, let’s be clear about that. I barely went out with him to begin with because all I can think about is you. So don’t guilt me about something that doesn’t matter anyway and I already regret because it was a total waste of time and energy.” I ended, and I was breathing heavily, riled up from my rant and frustration and a twinge of embarrassment at revealing my preoccupation with him.
Before I could calm down, his hand was pulling my face to look at him, and he was kissing me. It was a crushing, exhilarating, infuriating kiss. He practically inhaled me, like he’d been thinking about kissing me for those same eight weeks I’d been thinking about kissing him. But I was mad, and he clarified nothing, and I couldn’t ignore that, as much as most of my body wanted to. I pulled back and glared at him.
“You can’t just kiss me!” I gave him a push on the shoulder as I said it, and he grabbed my hand with both of his.
“I know, I know, I just…” He looked down at our hands, then back up at me. “I’m mostly mad with myself. I’m mad I didn’t talk to you before I left. I wanted to, and I should have, but I wussed out. The night of the ball was surreal for me, and I was confused, and I didn’t know how to talk to you about it. And then when I told you I was leaving you seemed so unaffected, and I thought that meant you didn’t care. So… I just didn’t bring it up.”
“Trust me, I was affected. I guess I did a decent job of hiding it, though.” I felt my heart lightening up a bit, relaxing its clinch.
“I figured if you weren’t worried about me being gone that long, then you didn’t care about… us, or the possibility of that, and that was sign enough for me.”
“I didn’t want you to see how upset I was. I felt so thrown when you said you were leaving and you hadn’t even mentioned it was a possibility before that. I just… I felt like you not telling me before then meant
you didn’t want… a-anything else.” I stuttered at the end, trying not to put a name to whatever it was we were hinting around at.
“I found out the day before the ball, the day before I told you. Honestly, I found out that Friday, and then I didn’t want that to be the focus of our night. I wasn’t originally slotted for this trip, but it fell to me because someone else had to pull out last minute, and I tend to get tasked with last minute stuff since I don’t have a wife and kids. I was nervous enough taking you to something like that, and I didn’t want to pressure you by then also saying I’d be going away for two months like I had big expectations of you.” His thumb ran across the inside of my wrist and I was mesmerized by the feeling and by this new revelation.
“I—I can’t believe this. I should have just asked you. I felt so stupid.” I rubbed my free hand over my face and then through my hair and glanced at him.
“Why did you feel stupid?” His voice was gentle and so compassionate I almost sighed out loud like a crazy person.
“We’d had such a great time at the ball, and then we… kissed… and that was… good.” I let out a shaky breath and glanced at him, then back down at my hands. “And I felt like maybe, you wanted something… I don’t know. But when you said you were leaving it felt like a blazing sign pointing to Friendsville. I didn’t want to be the one to push in another direction.”
“I did. I always did. And I do. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it and I do. Want something else.” He sat up with this, emphatically gripping my hand and pulling me so I edged closer to him.
“What?”
“Well, the point is moot unless you want something else too,” he said, hope unmissable in his tone. But then his voice hardened a little. “Unless you wanted to keep going out with whatshisface.”
“Uh, no. I didn’t even want to go out with him before. If you’d been an option, I definitely wouldn’t have.” I flashed him a smile, hopeful it would clarify my meaning.
“You have no designs on anyone else then?” He was smiling victoriously, despite his question.
“Just you.” I held his gaze after saying this, a small smile on my lips. His smile faded at that, though, so I pressed. “Do you want to…?” I felt embarrassed at having to outright ask him.
“I want to date you, but I know that if we date and it goes wrong—”
“It’ll be awful,” I finished for him. I felt it too. I felt like my veins were studded with crystals, some of them melting, some of them exploding. I felt ecstatic and breathless layered over a profound fear.
“But it won’t be. We’re not going to let dating come between us. We’ve come back together as friends after years apart. Plus, that’s assuming it won’t go well, and I don’t think that’s something we need to worry about.” Every word out of his mouth echoed one in my own mind. I wanted this. I wanted him. I was scared of it, but I was hopeful.
The glaring issue of how it might work and what it might mean in the long run, felt too large to confront in that moment. So we didn’t.
“Ok then,” I said, my voice textured with nerves and hope.
“Ok then,” he confirmed with a graveled, deep voice that wrapped around me.
Something shifted then, like the neutrons in the air could tell what was coming and charged.
He leaned forward and pulled me to him. His lips met mine softly, like a question. I turned toward him, trying to get closer, and his arms, one on my shoulder and the other on my back, urged me forward. He kept kissing me, even as he pulled me into his lap with hands moving my thighs and settling again low on my back, his tongue and lips exploring my mouth with urgency.
His hands moved to my neck, into my hair, and he held my head in his hands. He deepened the kiss and made a sound as I slid my fingers in to the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled me closer, his hands skimmed down my back and slipped under my shirt so he touched the skin of my lower back. I shivered at the feeling of his skin touching mine and pulled him closer, our bodies now crushed together, chest to chest. He groaned, or maybe growled, something primal, and I heard myself whisper his name.
“Luke.”
The sound of my whisper nudged me out of my kiss-induced fog, my alternating thoughts of yes and finally awakening to the rapidly escalating moment. I pulled back from him a little, enough to see his eyes were closed. He trailed kisses from my mouth to my ear and down my neck, his hands had moved around to my sides and his thumbs swept lightly along my ribcage. I moved my hands to his chest and savored the feeling of him under me for a moment before I found my voice.
“Luke, stop.” I said it just above a whisper, but it was loud enough to make him still completely. He froze, his eyes fluttered open, and he looked at me with confusion. He took several breaths, searching my face for an answer.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was gruff, and he looked disoriented, blinking at me as though trying to clear his vision and mind.
“Uh…” I wasn’t sure what to say, but I knew I had to get up and move before we progressed physically far past where we should without serious consequences. We’d just acknowledged we wanted to be together, but I wasn’t mentally prepared to be together before I’d had time to understand what that really meant. I started to stand, but he pulled me back down to sit on him again, his hands never moving from my waist.
“Don’t go. Just stay here and tell me what’s wrong.” His eyes were pleading and he looked desperately worried now. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m… concerned,” I said weakly, my voice raspy and unsure. My left hand pressed against his chest lightly, my right fiddled with the crew neck of his t-shirt.
He looked at me, waiting for me to continue. When I didn’t, he prompted me. “What about?”
He smiled at me as I felt my face flush. Obviously, it was time to talk more directly, but suddenly I felt like I was too immature to even think about sex, much less talk about it. Somehow we weren’t adult Luke and Alex, but in my mind had been transported back into the awkwardness of age twelve when Luke had come over to play with water guns the summer before seventh grade. He ran with me upstairs to my room to grab a hat and tripped on a pile of laundry my mom had set outside my door. Pristine white training bras and brightly colored underwear topped the pile, and the shoulder strap to one bra caught on his shoe while the others spread out in a mangled mess. I knew he saw what it was, and I don’t think I’ve ever blushed as deeply or felt the singe of humiliation as I did in that moment.
Well maybe until now, when I had to talk to this gorgeous, fully grown version of that same friend about a perfectly normal thing, but something that had never been a part of our relationship.
“I feel like we need to take a breath, maybe. And… talk?” I shifted, moving to stand up, but he held me in place again. “I need to move. I can’t think… like this.”
Silently his hands released me, and I leaned so my right foot touched the floor, then lifted my left leg over him, and walked to the kitchen. I shook my hands and arms at my sides, shaking out the nerves and desire. He was watching me—I could feel him tracking me, even with my back to him.
“Tell me what’s going on in that head.” His voice was commanding but not loud. He was firm, sure, and even though he was still sitting on the couch, leaning back and surveying me, his voice was anything but relaxed.
I dumped out the wine glasses we’d barely touched, loaded the dishwasher, and poured us each water. I topped off Lemon’s water bowl. I considered going out and trimming my herbs, but that was probably taking it too far, so instead I took the glasses with me when I went to sit back down on the other side of the couch. I propped my feet up on the couch, my knees almost to my chin, creating a barrier between him and me.
“I think… we should wait. A while. Before we… go any further.” My voice was shaky and I kept my arms locked around my knees like I was keeping them safe with my relentless grip.
He watched, taking in my arms wrapped around my knees and what must have been a
face full of worry. “Can you tell me why?”
“It would…” I took a deep breath. “I think it could ruin our friendship.”
“Why would it ruin our friendship?” He looked at me, studied my face, and didn’t move.
“Don’t play dumb. You know that moving beyond being friends is already a risk. If we date, that’s one thing. But if we sleep together, and then break up? There’s just no recovering from that.” My voice was quiet, but confident. I was feeling the wear of the week, of the surprise of seeing him, and of the rollercoaster of emotions and hormones. Now I just felt tired and a little unsure and ready to sleep.
“I’m not playing dumb.” His look was steady and he didn’t break eye contact.
“Ok, well, what do you think?” I heard the edge to my voice. I felt just shy of hysterical from both wanting him and fear. I was afraid to talk about this and more afraid of what he’d say.
He sighed and ran his hands over his face and through his hair, then they found their grip at the back of his neck. “I understand what you’re saying. I’m not happy about that because… I mean, damn Alex. It’s you. I can’t pretend this isn’t something I’ve thought about for… a while. But, I get it. I don’t want to hurt you or put pressure on us before we even get a chance to enjoy dating.” He sounded resigned, but sure, and he stood up.
“Ok, but… now you’re leaving?” I felt relieved by his response, but extremely disappointed he was unmistakably ready to leave.
“Yes, I’m leaving. Because I haven’t seen you in eight weeks, and I have been wanting you for essentially my whole life, and now in some small way you’re admitting you want me too. I’m exhausted, and my willpower is minimal, and I do have to get back home because I promised Harrison I’d workout with him early tomorrow. But I want us to make plans soon.” He walked to me and grabbed my hands and pulled me off the couch. When he hugged me, he pressed me with both hands against him, his whole body wrapping around mine, warm and reassuring. Then he gave me an all too chaste kiss and was at the door.