I break my attention away from Charlotte long enough to watch a man running down an abandoned street, a rabid, undead zombie not far behind. The man climbs on top of a school bus, relieved to have finally found a spot long enough to take a breath. Charlotte’s body stiffens as the zombie continues to jump, clawing and grasping for a way to reach the now isolated, still alive man.
Again, not able to keep my focus on the show long enough to fully understand the poor man’s life or death situation, my eyes like a moth drawn to a flame, flit back over to Charlotte.
Her hands are draped between her legs, her fingers clutching the small remote. The black fabric of her cherry printed dress stops mid-thigh. My eyes travel down her legs, my stomach dipping when I see she has them crossed at the ankle.
That’s when I see it—her hands flexing against the black plastic before she smooths the palm of her right hand along her thigh.
She’s nervous.
I’m nervous too.
My heart still pounds within the walls of my chest, but I push through it, determined to break down Charlotte’s walls. Maybe she just needs a little nudge.
I clear my throat and look down at the pillows. I get lost in thought before I hear Charlotte clearing her throat. My head slowly moves, my eyes meeting hers. She’s staring directly at me. I grin like an idiot.
“Hi,” I whisper.
Blue and white lights dance across her face like the shadow of a flickering candle. She doesn’t respond. Instead, she squints her eyes, narrowing them ever so slightly before turning her attention back to the TV, her hands still wrapped around the remote and her legs crossed at the ankle.
I wait a few minutes, chewing on the inside of my cheek, then look back up at the TV. The man is running from the zombie once again. Poor guy.
Running my palms down my thighs, I inhale a deep breath. I know Charlotte said she wanted to take things slow, but I feel this silence is some form of bittersweet torture. She’s the itch I need to scratch. She’s the large red button that has a million arrows pointing to it, signs nailed to every inch of the surrounding wall, the words, “Do not push!” on every one.
I want to scratch the itch, and I sure as hell want to push that giant red button. Then I remember, I never promised her I wouldn’t touch her, only agreed to take things slow.
By my guess, I assume we’re over halfway through the episode. Yeah, I think we’ve taken it slow enough.
Inching my leg across the bed, I tap my knee against the farthest pillow, the one dividing our legs. I watch with a grin as it falls over my leg. Using my knee, I lift my leg and shove the pillow off the bed. It rolls off the side and falls to the floor with a quiet thud.
“What are you doing, Mase?”
Startled at her voice, I whip my head back to Charlotte.
“Nothing,” I shrug.
Her gorgeous face is filled with amusement, yet I can sense a small bit of hesitance behind her eyes. She caught me. My hand rests above that giant red “Do not push!” button, ready to press at any moment.
My heart aches, wondering what thoughts must be going through her mind. Does she want me as badly as I want her? Is she ready for this? Is she ready to give us another chance?
She answers my question when she closes her mouth and nervously swallows.
Other than the sound of the TV, silence falls between us. Smirking, I reach my hand out and grab the second pillow, the one dividing our hips. I grip the edge of the soft white fabric, my fingers clutching the pillow.
“Don’t you do it,” she warns.
“Do what, Char?” Lifting the pillow, I dangle it in the air between us. Charlotte smiles and goddamn if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. The corner of her mouth twists and curls, and it takes everything in me to not lean over, closing the gap between us, and place my lips against hers.
“You know how I like my pillow walls.”
My stomach dips and twists. She’s playing with me. I swing my arm, still holding the pillow in the air, only this time, I’m holding it above the other discarded pillow sitting on the floor.
“You’re right, Charlotte. I do know how you like your pillow walls.” I drop the second pillow, freeing it from my fingers. I don’t hear it hit the floor as I keep my eyes pinned to Charlotte. Leaning forward, I bring my mouth in front of her ear, my lips barely ghosting her skin. “But let’s be honest,” I whisper. “You and I both know the wall doesn’t stay up for long.”
I half expect Charlotte to lean back and push me away. I’m even expecting her to turn away from me, ordering me to turn my attention back to the TV, insisting we should still move slow.
But she shatters all my expectations. My heart catches in my throat when her body stiffens beside me. She doesn’t breathe, she doesn’t move. She holds her breath, the air still, heavy and thick between us.
Our cheeks are barely brushing, but I feel her lips close, her throat moving as she swallows. She doesn’t need to be touching me, I feel her everywhere.
Moving back just a fraction, I line my eyes up with hers. Her pink lips are still closed, her wide eyes staring straight through me. I move my hand to the last pillow, still resting between our hips and grip the edge.
“Mason,” she whispers.
The TV is still flashing with colors, white and blue lights cascading across Charlotte’s face. Her focus is no longer on the man running for his life. she’s looking at me—only me.
“Mason,” she repeats. My name falls on a sigh. Her eyes turn down in sadness and her shoulders sag. “We can’t.”
I start to move the pillow, the cool air immediately filling the void.
“Why not?” I ask with a smirk.
She reaches out, quickly placing her hand over mine, stopping me from completely removing the last pillow.
“No, Mason. I mean it, we can’t.”
I lower the pillow but keep my fingers tightly gripped around the edge.
“Char.” My eyes flicker back and forth, searching hers for an explanation why she’s so hesitant. Doubt settles in the pit of my stomach, chewing away on the confidence that was once so abundant. Maybe she isn’t ready for this. Maybe she’s afraid. Maybe she just wants to be friends.
The longer I stare into her eyes, the more I notice how her responses are on auto-pilot. Her eyes are glassy, turning into pools of liquid.
“We can’t.”
I don’t believe her words. They’re empty, meaningless, no conviction behind them. She’s grasping at straws, struggling to come up with an excuse why we can’t be us again.
I remove my hand from the pillow and place my palm against her cheek, my thumb resting just below her eye. Her warm skin nearly causes me to fall apart and disintegrate right here on her bed, among the rabid zombies and an obviously fearful Charlotte.
I smile despite the small hint of sadness still radiating from her body. With my hand pressed against her cheek, my fingers thread through her soft chestnut hair. She doesn’t have it weaved into a braid as she normally does. Her hair is swept to the side, lying against her shoulder, longer than the last time I saw it.
“Okay, Char. If we can’t do this…” I take a deep breath, wondering how I should go about this. “Answer this question.”
A ghost, a mere hint of a smile grows on Charlotte’s mouth. “What question would that be?”
“Well,” I chuckle. I move my hand from her face and grip the edge of the pillow again, ready to pull it away this time. “If we can’t do whatever this is between us, why did you say yes to me coming over?”
“Um…” Her voice trails off in thought, seemingly caught off guard by my question. I lift the pillow a bit more.
“Why did you bring me back to your room to watch zombies?”
“Mason,” she laughs.
“Well?” I ignore her reluctance and toss the pillow over my shoulder, not daring to take my eyes off her.
She pretends to be surprised at me removing the pillow. She gasps, her eyes spread wide. But then, just
as quickly, she playfully shrugs.
“I wanted to watch this show. I’ve been binge watching it this past week.”
“No.” I twist my mouth, still grinning, and click my tongue. “That’s not it.” I pause before asking, “What are you thinking?”
“What?” She rolls her eyes and groans. I don’t miss how she subtly tilts her head into my hand. “How about you first? You tell me what you’re thinking.”
I almost feel like we're a couple of teenagers, afraid to tell the other we have a secret crush on them. I smile, loving where this conversation is headed.
“You really want to know what I was thinking?”
She nods her head, willing me to answer. I slide my hand along her cheek, feeling the curve of her jaw, the bend of the skin forming her neck. her pulse beating against the pads of my fingertips. My heart races, thrashing against my ribs. My body heats, and my skin tingles with the thoughts still running rampant through my brain.
“I was thinking about Christmas,” I say nonchalantly. The words spill from my mouth so effortlessly. If I’m honest, I’ve thought of what I’m about to tell her more than once. I’ve thought these same things ever since the day I realized I was in love with her. Nonetheless, I hold my breath, waiting for her response. I’m taking a risk telling her my deepest thoughts and plans, hoping this will somehow let her know just how deep I am in this with her.
“Christmas?” Her eyebrows turn down in confusion as her back presses into the pillows behind her. I lower my hand and absently run my fingertip along the top of her thigh.
“Yeah, I was thinking about how we might spend Christmas with my parents’ this year. Sam and Emily will be there, still high on their newlywed marital bliss. And of course, Alma will be there.”
“Mason, I don’t—”
I cut Charlotte off, raising my hand and pressing my finger to her lips. She gasps, feeling my skin against her mouth. How is it possible for my lips to be jealous of my own finger?
“You told me to tell you what I was thinking, so this is what I was thinking about.” I say, half-joking. I tilt my head to the side, keeping my finger pressed against her mouth. Looking up, my eyes search Charlotte’s room.
“Then I was thinking about how your place looks much better than mine. This place would be perfect for a cat. My flat is so drab, only filled with the essentials. But your place.” I bring my eyes back to hers. “Your place is filled with life.” When I finish, I slowly remove my finger from her mouth. She releases a breath and stares at me. For a moment, I start to wonder whether I’ve scared her away, but my doubts are pushed to the side when she grins.
“You’re comparing my place to yours in California?” I can tell she takes pride in her home, the one she made all by herself. “I don’t think that’s a fair comparison.” She looks around the room, clearly confused. My stomach flutters for the millionth time tonight, amused at our conversation.
“I mean,” she continues, her eyes falling back to mine. “they’re completely different places. California is so different from here. I’m sure you go to the beach all the time, at least I used to.”
“No, not really,” I disagree.
“I don’t understand what you’re telling me, Mase. None of what you’re saying makes sense.”
“I was also thinking maybe we could just celebrate New Year’s Eve by ourselves,” I shrug, ignoring her statements, having way too much fun. “Or whatever you want to do.”
It’s kind of fun watching her. Her face is a constant shift from confusion to amusement, her eyes shining against the glow inside her room. She’s imagining everything I’ve imagined, imagining the moments I’m describing to her.
I place my hand on the other side of her leg, my arms caging her in. The muscles of my arms flex, my hands dipping into the mattress. The same silence from before falls between us. It isn’t until this moment, I realize the episode has ended, and the TV is quiet.
“Mason.” Her eyes turn down in sadness, her shoulders falling with a heavy sigh. Her sadness cracks the image I have of us together, the worry seeping back into my bones.
“I want to be with you, Charlotte,” I finally admit. “All this silence and fighting is stupid. I want to be with you.”
“I don’t see how that’ll work.” She shakes her head. “That’s a lot of flying, Mason. California is too far for you to be flying back and forth, just to see me and be with me.”
“California? Who ever said anything about California?”
“Mason.” She pauses, raising her eyebrows, her mouth opening and closing a few times, deciding on her next words. “I love you. I still love you and I want you more than anyone I’ve ever wanted before. You gave me the time I needed, the time I wanted. And yes, it’s been hard being without you, but I never stopped wanting you. That’s what makes this so hard. This is why we can’t do this. I won’t be the reason you uproot your entire life. You once told me the reason you moved to the States. I won’t be another woman who sways you into changing everything. I won’t.”
“You’re not swaying me, Charlotte. Moving to California was my decision. It wasn’t Claire’s. No one made it for me.” I take a moment to digest Charlotte’s confession. She wasn’t worried about our separation or whether we should just be friends. She’s worried about the distance—a distance that no longer exists.
Sighing, Charlotte adjusts herself on the bed. I sit back as she brings herself up, pulling her back away from the headboard.
“I won’t be the reason you’re unhappy, Mason.”
“Char, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Okay then, I won’t be the reason you leave California.” She shakes her head again, her eyes lined with tears threatening to spill.
Leaning forward, I bring my face closer to Charlotte’s.
“You weren’t the reason.”
Her chest stills, a single tear spills over and slides down her cheek.
“What do you mean, weren’t?”
“Well,” I say, tossing my head side to side in thought. “You weren’t the only reason I moved back home.” I offer her a small smile as I reach my hand up and swipe the one tear away. “Just one.” Her skin is hot, her cheeks blushed a pale pink.
“What?” Her question falls on a breath, a breath that’s heavy and hot. One that leaves her body in one rush. That one breath, the one that leaves her chest hollow, fills me. I breathe her in. She’s the air I’ve been waiting to take in. Like a small pocket of air, ready to bring me back to life whenever I needed it. And now was one of those moments.
I’m full with Charlotte’s breath of life. I can tell that was the reason she’s been fighting so hard since the moment we stepped into this room. She was grasping at straws, finding any excuse to not make us happen because she thought I was too far away to make any possibility of us being together a reality. She was willing to put her own love for me aside for the sake of making sure I was happy.
“You live here?” She’s still staring at me, unsure whether to believe me.
“Yeah.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder as if I’m pointing in the direction of my place. “I found a flat on the edge of town, and I have a new job with a firm not too far from here. I moved back a few weeks ago.”
“Really?” The corner of her mouth curls, still in shock.
Reaching my hand up, I tuck the loose strands of her hair behind her ear.
“Listen, Char. The moment I met you was the weirdest moment of my life. I mean, what were the chances the seat I stole at the airport gate belonged to the woman who was also best friends with my brother? Not only that, but what were the chances that same woman was the one who managed to make me fall in love with her in a matter of days?”
I inch forward, bringing my face as close to Charlotte’s as possible. She smells like flowers again. For a second, I think she smells like my mother’s garden, but then I remember the twenty baskets lining her front door. She smells like home to me.
“You frustrate me, Charlotte Kelle
y.” I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, feeling her warmth. “You ask too many questions and analyze everything. You stumble into strange bars in foreign countries and have your wallet stolen by a drunk.” A chuckle erupts from my throat, thinking back to the day we met. “You think people randomly carry around severed heads in metal boxes, attempting to pass them as carry-on luggage.”
Charlotte laughs. Her head tilts back and she closes her eyes. My whole body ignites, realizing this is the first time I’ve heard her genuinely laugh since I’ve seen her again. I haven’t heard her laugh this way or her face light up this bright since before.
I let her laugh until her tears disappear. Her laughs fades, but her smile stays as her eyes fall back to mine.
“Seemed like a reasonable explanation why you would be carrying something like that on an airplane.”
“Oh, yeah?”
She giggles, then slowly lifts her hand, her fingertips grazing the light stubble lining my jaw. My gut twists feeling her this way.
“Yeah, it did.” Her voice trails off as her eyes roam over my face before landing on my lips.
I smile, sliding my tongue across my lips, remembering the way she tastes. She bites her bottom lip, pinching it beneath her top teeth.
“Charlotte?” Her name fills the only space remaining between us, and I realize we’ve slowly been inching toward each other.
“Yes?”
“Would it—” The words catch in my throat. I’m unable to concentrate on anything else but her mouth. I close my mouth and clear the lump still sitting there. “Would it be okay if I kissed you now?”
“Please,” she quickly says. “And you better not stop this time.”
I don’t hesitate, feeling her words travelling straight through me, dividing between my heart and my stomach. I pull her forward with my hand, the one still wrapped around the back of her neck.
Her lips press against mine. Our kiss isn’t slow and cautious. It’s eager—eager for the memory of what was and what still is.
What are the Chances Page 24