CHAPTER 17
“Stay with me tonight,” he says.
They’re words I didn’t expect, and they’re dangerous because they give me ease and make me hope, even though I should remain guarded. I adjust my stance, unsure.
“I don’t know.” I search his features. That one thought shows I’m granting this night more weight than I should. We’ve connected in a way I never expected and so far beyond the boundaries of sex.
“I still owe you a shower.” He playfully lifts me, veering me from the lingering question. He’s unwilling to let this night end yet. Cocooned in his arms, he transports me elsewhere where my only concern is to relish our time together. All we have is tonight, so I must burrow into it like a tight sweater and stretch each second until they fit.
Squealing and kicking, he carries me down the hall and tosses me on his bed. I bounce. Laid out on the mattress, I scoot back when he descends. One knee at a time he crawls over me, a prowling animal. He drops beside me. He squeezes me against his body until we’re twined naked in each other’s arms, like pretend lovers.
He kisses my neck. The muscles quiver, and I want to fold over on our point of contact so I can live in that perfect spot. My breath lodges tight in my chest when I close my eyes imaging this happening every night. Risky territory, I know. But I’ve already seen us together in my mind, and I like the comfort I find there.
“So...” he says.
“So.” I gnaw my inner cheek.
The air churns thick with possibility. It swirls with the kind of expectations that makes me believe this can only happen at the beginning of a relationship. Whatever we say or do here will determine our fate.
Since I arrived, I’ve run from any unknown factors, but Evan draws me out and into his beautiful world. But still, there’s this wall of silence growing between us. Perhaps if I charge forward with a sledgehammer, I’ll crack and shatter it, so we can be closer. I clear my throat to take the first wide-arching swing.
“This could be the first time you haven’t had something to say.”
Crack.
“I always have something to say. Sometimes I just don’t say it.”
Swing.
“So say it.”
Crack.
He gives me the tiniest of squeezes. “Thank you.”
Swing.
“Thank you?” I laugh. “That’s it? No witty jabs? No sexual innuendos?”
“No. I-I needed you.” His voice trails, his words commixing and fading into the noise of my thoughts. He needed me? Shatter. The wall explodes into a million shimmering fragments of possibility.
At his admission, my heart pounds with fervor. I mirror his truth. I needed to be with someone, though I didn’t realize it until he kissed me like he cared all those night ago. Maybe, just maybe, I needed Evan too.
I want to tell him I needed him too. The words are past the tip of my tongue. Their curves and lines stand defined on the cliff of my lips, ready to spill over, but the traitors tremble holding the truth back. They know better. That saying it out aloud would alarm him. So I fold them in, tugging the words back. They tumble across my tongue and into the back of my throat. I swallow them whole. They settle like lumps in my dry throat. If they were real, they would choke me.
No matter how sincere those thoughts have become, I need to keep them guarded. If I told him I liked him, thought of him, hoped for more with him, his warmth might slip away like fading daylight, returning me to my darkness. Even though he’s proclaimed his truth, mine will hold a deeper meaning. One that says, he was right all along, that I can’t handle this.
“Pussy,” I jab. Going for what we’re good at. Where our comfort lies. Banter.
“Well, at least my name isn’t Cat.” Snuggling becomes tickling in seconds, and I’m pinned on the mattress beneath his hulking body, wiggling and resisting fingers crawling my sides. I yelp with laughter, begging him to stop.
He pins my hands above my head. I’m out of breath; breasts pointing skyward, chest heaving and back arced toward him. He leans forward and kisses me. His lips linger on mine, like he’s memorizing them. I memorize his: full bottom lip, arched upper, and both controlling and addictive, each tasting like refreshing rain.
He opens his eyes. His body draws away onto bent knees, but he’s still straddling me. “You want to run?”
“Sex and running? That’s crazy close to my perfect night. You don’t want me to enjoy myself too much, do you?”
“Maybe I want you to remember this night forever.”
I lift myself on elbows. I already know I will. Has he read my mind? Evan could become my addiction if he allowed it. Especially if every time we connected, we made love like tonight. I glance away. What’s between us is a volatile and hazardous mixture that could explode forming perfect stars or implode spiraling into a black hole, devouring us both. But neither will happen, so we’re safe.
I return his smile and nod in acceptance.
He uproots, bobbling the mattress beneath me, and slips away. I scan the movements of his naked body. Thick corded thighs, defined knees, strong calves, and then there’s his ass. I catch a peek of it before he slides on his running pants. He searches the drawers of his dresser, and I count the brawny compartments on his chest. My deep frown forms when he tugs on a T-shirt, hiding them.
“I thought I was the only person in Chicago who ran in the middle of the night.” I kick away the sheet tangled around my foot and sit, legs crossed, on the edge of the bed.
“Insomnia,” he admits.
Something else we have in common.
“I think it’s a ploy to get me out of your apartment.”
“Or,” he nears and lowers his face to mine, “it’s a ploy to get you really dirty so I can take a shower with you after.”
“So you can make sure I’m really clean?”
“Sparkling.” He gives me a kiss and then stands tall.
“When you put it like that.” I shrug and glance away, playing uninterested. Though I’m beaming inside. All the sudden I’m a girl who wants to sparkle instead of fade away. I hop up to dress too. I’ll do anything to push us to the point where we’re in a shower together, like I daydreamed.
I bound through his apartment and climb upstairs to my own in search of my running shoes. There, I change into my cool weather gear. Back downstairs, I meet him near the mailboxes.
“Let’s see if you can beat me this time, Cat.”
Evan tears off through the front door at the challenge, and I follow. I launch over the marble stoop and sprint to catch him in the darkness. We race and chat and play for miles, hours. The city is so quiet; it’s like it belongs us.
When we return home, I chase him down our street and follow as he darts up the stairs back inside. I’m barely through his apartment door when he twirls me in his arms and kisses me again. Evan’s hands encircle my back, touching and teasing me everywhere all at once.
This. This is how I pictured us coming originally, in a seductive crash of reckless abandoned. He kicks the front door shut with his foot and unzips my jacket in one fluid motion. He peels off my top with arms lifted above my head. Between the chaos, I do the same to him. We’re on a new quest: to be naked and in each other’s arms faster than we can scramble down the hall, leaving a trail of dirty clothes behind us.
The adrenaline surging through my veins flips to lust in a matter of seconds. He’s an animal, growling and nipping at my skin. Lying on the edge of the mattress, my long legs wrap around his hips and arms lock around his neck. He aligns himself and enters me with commanding force that steals my breath.
It’s a relief to feel him deep inside again, to know all of our banter and attraction can create something this beautiful. My eyelids flutter. He leverages his weight and speed by standing on the floor and rocking into me. My fingers clench the edge of the mattress. I’m wild and bucking. His riotous response meets mine. He leans in to kiss me, and the ravenous connection between us intensifies, causing my insides to throb.
All muscles tighten; my body arches needing more. At the summit of arousal, I release in a stormy wave of spasms. Evan comes right after, and the crash causes us both to collapse in a raptured, induced high.
He folds over me and kisses my shoulder, my neck, and then seeks my lips. Their decisive touch matches the intensity of our lovemaking. My knees clench him tighter. I want to do this again, every night, for the rest of my life. How can I not when he makes me feel this way? When he shows me what life could be with him in it? And especially when he shows me this kind of attention when we’re nothing to each other. Imagine if we were more.
When he returns from the bathroom, he spills onto the bed beside me. He sighs in my ear, rakes an arm over my stomach, and tugs me closer until we’re spoon-curled into each other. After the sex, the running, and the repeat sex, my limbs are exhausted. My eyelids sink heavy.
“I’m ready for sleep,” he admits.
“You don’t want to run again?” I mumble.
“I thought we could just hold each other.”
I clasp my hand with his and tug it to my chest.
***
The distinct aroma of coffee causes my nostrils to flare. I inhale before opening one eye. Daylight pours into Evan’s room, and I wince from exhaustion, knowing I’ve slept too little. But then a smile creeps in as I remember last night.
“Mmm.” The sound vibrates my entire body as I roll over and stretch, arms and legs extended, but my mood sours when I find the spot next to me empty.
I rise and stumble to the bathroom. There, I slip into Evan’s bathrobe, a huge comfy thing, before padding down the hall, drawn by the scent of heaven—butter and cinnamon. Which turns out to be Evan standing behind a stove, wearing unzipped tattered and faded jeans, and focused on a sizzling pan with rising steam.
“Do I smell apple pie?” I lean over him, my cheek resting on his arm to peer into the griddle.
“Apple pancakes. It’s a Wade tradition.” He flips two fluffy cakes on a plate, sprinkles them with powered sugar, and hands it to me. “Help yourself to the coffee. Mugs are on the counter. Butter and syrup are on the table.”
“Your talents in the bedroom and kitchen are scaring me.”
“I aim to please, Miss London.” He grins in a way that makes me want to have my way with him right here. But I look down at my plate and my stomach grumbles. I forgo my sexual needs for food. Seated at the table with a cup of steaming coffee, I take a sip while soaking in his image.
“I hate to cook,” I admit.
“I used to suck at it until I had to feed myself. In the beginning I burned everything, even the easy stuff. But it became this thing I needed to conquer and master.”
“I kind of went the other way. When I found out I couldn’t cook, I stopped eating.” I stuff a fork full of pancake in my mouth. The food melts on my tongue. “This is amazing.”
“Thanks.” He joins me at the table with his own plate and sits across from me.
“So how do you explain your sexing skills?” I roll a fork in the air.
Evan almost spews coffee from his nose. “My what?” He laughs.
“Did you used to suck at that too until you mastered it?”
He takes another sip, maybe stalling to decide how to answer. The knot at his throat bobs. He places his mug on the table. “I honestly don’t know how to answer that.”
“Why?”
“Because I had only ever been with one person.”
My fork falls to my plate with a clank. “Meaning, I’m one of two?”
He shrugs, and I take this as a confirmation. He continues eating like this is no big deal. He’s at least a few years older and has only been with two girls? This goes against every opinion I’d formulated about him.
I fold my hands together and contemplate the proper response. “How is that possible? You’ve acted like—like—”
“Like what? Like I said, you don’t know me,” he snaps.
“But—”
He reaches across the table and settles a hand over mine. His tone is reserved. “And the reason is something I don’t wish to discuss. I meant what I said, no matter what happened last night, how amazing, after you leave, we’ll go back to being friends.”
I slump in my seat, half defeated, half intrigued by the mystery of the only other girl Evan has ever touched. The only other woman he’s made love to, if it was love. It had to have been. Why else would he wait so long to be with someone new?
I purse my lips, remembering the photo hanging on his wall—he and the blonde. Maybe she’s the one. What I can’t explain is the parade of women I’ve seen him with since we met. Though I never recall seeing more than a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or a wave. Maybe I’d been misreading him all along? Maybe he isn’t the player I imagined. Maybe he only talks a good game while acting full of himself.
“So how about that shower?” He pushes his empty plate away, but it signals more than that. It signals this conversation is over.
My smile is forced plastic while I’m deep in thought. The whispers are right on the edge of my mind, worming their way back in. I remind myself his past and present don’t matter. Evan and I are nothing and never will be. I twirl a loose strand of hair around my finger. If anything, I want to be present in our final moments.
“You did promise I’d sparkle,” I joke.
Under the deluge of the hot water, Evan makes good on his offer. He lathers me with a loofah. We don’t speak. Instead, I use the time to memorize him. Soapy hands slide over his strong shoulders. I draw the line of his spine and the curve of his hips before descending to the bulge of his perfect ass. The most mesmerizing part of his body sits right below his etched abs. Defined hips flexors point south to his growing cock. It slips over my slick thigh. My perky nipples skim his chest. My skin pricks in every place we touch. We kiss, soft and deep, wrapped within the steam. When I turn away, he soaps my aroused breasts. His tip brushes the crease of my ass, but he never presses for more.
We’re coming back from that place where we gave all of ourselves physically and emotionally. Even here, we’re already several steps back on our way to never touching each other again, and I’m already mourning the separation.
Stepping out of the shower and into the humid room, Evan wraps a fluffy towel around my back and pats my skin dry. I pinch the towel closed at my chest and glance up at him. He brushes wet hair from my eyes, tucks a strand behind my ear and caresses my cheek. I press into his touch, and my eyes flicker closed.
“These are nicer than my granny towels,” I admit.
“Only because you’re in it.” He words are soft. He leans close. We kiss. It’s our last. I’m sure of it.
The sensation swirls in me and radiates from him. I live in our connection for as long as he allows. Our lips stick for a moment before he drifts away. His palm glides down my arms until my hands are grasped within his. He lifts my hands and kisses my knuckles before releasing me. We’re at the part of the song where we fade out to silence.
As soon as he draws away there are miles between us. Inside, I’m reaching for him, shouting for him to return and give me a chance, another night to prove we could be more, but he won’t respond to my silent protest.
A storm brews behind eyes, and he sets his jaw. Regret flickers in his gaze. He edges past and moves into the bedroom, like he doesn’t want me to notice. I shadow him but don’t touch. Sitting at the edge of the bed, I grasp the towel tighter around myself, searching for comfort. I need to fill Evan’s void somehow.
He dresses, hiding his body forever by layering a navy sweater over a T-shirt and jeans. He steps to a mirror and rakes his fingers through his damp hair. With a few swipes, the thick waves fall in a refined mess.
His attention drifts to me. It’s a signal. I must get ready too, or I’ll be late for work. I relent to the inevitable. When I dress, I sense he’s trying not to watch, but his gaze seems tethered to my body. I take my time. Maybe he’s memorizing me too.
Now finished, he follows me to the front door. His hand clenches the brass knob. I squeeze the handle on my bag slung over my shoulder. The door squeaks when he opens it. I step forward but he blocks me, forming a wall. My heart lurches with hope, and I find his eyes.
He’s buying time. I’d empty my savings for more. I shift my stance. There’s so much I want to say. Kiss me. Ask me to stay. Ask me to come back. Ask me anything that causes a repeat of last night. I will all those words, or any combination of them, to pour from his perfect lips. But before they move, I know what he’s about to say by the dark turbulence of resolve settling into his tawny eyes.