by Aria Ford
Her whole body shakes with ragged sobs. Her face is hot and sticky on my shoulder, her weeping hectic and loud. I can’t think what to do. I just keep my arm around her and let her cry. I want to tell her to stop, that it’s okay. But I know it’s not okay. I’m sure as hell not okay, and I’m not completely alone in the world and waiting tables to survive. I don’t think I have much right to tell her to hush because everything’s fine.
“You’re safe here,” I finally say.
She nods enthusiastically and sniffs and hiccups. I disentangle myself from her and come back with a box of tissues. She mops up her face and blows her nose about twenty times. Her makeup that was smeared is now completely gone. Her face is puffy and red. I kiss her again because it makes my chest hurt to see her like that. I can’t imagine looking at her and not kissing her.
“I’m sorry,” she says after a while, “I haven’t cried like that in a long time. Not since the burial even. I mean, I’ve cried, but not like that. Not like I’m dying of it.”
“It’s okay to do that here.”
“No, it’s not. It’s not your job to just—save me and comfort me,” she says hotly.
“What if I wouldn’t mind applying for that job?” I say before I can even think. I want to protect her. I never want another man to hurt her. I want to make her feel safe enough to be herself like she just did.
“I never told anyone that I wanted to die. I’m not suicidal. I haven’t tried to hurt myself. It’s not just grief. They say that the worst part goes away after a year, like—ding—time’s up, you’re back to normal. But if that’s true, I don’t think I’d still wonder what the point is. Like, why am I even still here? My whole family’s gone. My life as I knew it is gone. I had to drop out of school. I live in a total craphole with my friend Amy, and we work opposite shifts, so it’s not like I’ve even got her.”
“What about—I know you said you had to quit school, but what about student loans? You might have been able to finish your degree,” I say.
“I could have done that, I guess. But I had just lost my whole family, Griffin. I couldn’t keep going. I didn’t want to deal with taking on debt after I spent weeks sorting everything out to get death certificates. I had to clean out the house and figure out what to donate and what to try and sell, and I only had till the end of the month because it was a rental. There was just me. To go through Josh’s baseball cards and know I didn’t have any way to keep them. I didn’t have a house or anything—any way to store these keepsakes I didn’t want to let go. I was like shell-shocked after all that. I couldn’t face financial aid and more debt and trying to live my life like I hadn’t just lost everything important…you probably think that’s stupid.”
I didn’t think it was stupid. I think it’s unfortunate, and that some university advisor really dropped the ball in this case, because some form of support system surely existed at the campus level to help. I wish that I could have helped her, that I could help her now.
“How can I help?” I say.
“Just you letting me do that, cry and be mad and everything. That helped.”
“I don’t just mean tonight.”
It is out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying: I will absolutely move her in here tomorrow. I’ll take her for a live-in lover, and we’ll see where it goes. Her eyes get big, but she shakes her head.
“No way. I want this perfect night with you. I don’t want you trying to solve my problems for me. I’m here for a good time. I’m sorry for sobbing all over you. We’ve both lost people we love, so let’s just steal tonight and be as happy as we can before reality catches up with us.”
It’s probably the best idea I have ever heard. I roll over to set my alarm, and she spoons up behind me, her cheek against my back. I feel myself relax completely. She’s holding me, one arm behind my neck, one slung over my chest. She molds her body to mine, her chest against my back, her thighs behind mine, her bare feet somewhere around my calves. It’s practically heaven. I didn’t know I wanted anything like this, but here I am. Griffin Doyle, self-made millionaire, international playboy, ruthless businessman—being the little spoon in bed with a waitress. I can’t help but smile.
THANK YOU!
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ABOUT AUTHOR
Aria Ford is a romance writer who writes hot and steamy contemporary romances.
She loves writing about bad boys of all kinds and enjoys every second of it.
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