Chapter 2 DIEGO #5
I wanted to look at him. Wanted to figure out what the fuck he was doing. Wanted to be prepared, because I knew the kind of damage he was capable of. But I couldn’t. I just stared at the door handle, my hand in his.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.
Surprised, I glanced up and caught his gaze. “I don’t know. Probably hiding from my family.”
“Would you want to—?”
“Taran.”
His mouth shut so fast, I heard it snap.
I sighed and took my hand back, running it through my hair just in time to remember it had cum all over it. Fuck my life. “This was great. And you’re great. But I’m not trying to make this a thing again.”
“Oh. I—I get it.”
“I don’t think you do.” I opened the door, trying to put myself back together. Instinct told me not to look at the beautiful motherfucker.
He was quiet for a while, opening his own door and stirring as he replaced various articles of clothing.
He leaned into the front seat and rifled through his jacket until he found his glasses, then put them on.
Then, and only then, he said, “I know… I can be disappointing. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think the problem—”
“What?” I couldn’t help it; I turned to look at him out of sheer surprise.
He had his pants on but not zipped or buckled, just hanging open to artlessly display his package behind standard-issue white shorts. His brow was furrowed seriously, scrunched up behind loose hair and the rim of his glasses. “I just mean—”
“Who told you you’re disappointing?” I demanded, experiencing a vaguely frightening protective urge.
“Okay, maybe that’s not the word for what happened with us.” He gestured with one hand and pushed his glasses up with the other. “Not for everything. But I did disappoint you, and we both know it.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. And yet, there was no point lying to him. I’d sure fucking made myself clear, that last time we’d been together. Wished I could forget how clear. “Kinda. I guess?”
“That’s what hurt.” His voice went quieter, thoughtful. Almost philosophical. “That I wasn’t the guy you wanted me to be. But I’m okay with that, because I actually wish I’d been that guy. Whereas, with most of the other people I’ve disappointed, I’m not sorry at all.”
That flare of annoyance again. “Who the fuck told you that you were disappointing? Jesus, man, that’s fucked up.”
“No one has to say it.” He smiled, the fucking idiot; he actually smiled. “That’s the thing with disappointment. It hits harder when it’s silent. You saw all those guys at the wedding.”
Oh. Oh Jesus fucking Christ. “High school football fanatics? They can’t see past the end of their noses.”
He nodded way too agreeably. “Yeah, right, and once I figured that out, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care that I disappointed my parents even, because I knew they’d be okay if I was okay eventually. I cared for a while about disappointing Jennie, but—”
“Babe, no. Stop.” I turned all the way around and grabbed his hand, then covered it with my other one. I wanted to shut him up, but not in a bad way. In a way that made me feel so fucking awkward and vulnerable I didn’t even know how to deal with it.
It was at once ridiculous and familiar. But this was the first time I’d ever seen awkward vulnerability in him, too.
… Or was it? Would I even know?
I shook off my train of thought and refocused.
Fucking ADHD. “Please. This is wild. You are not a disappointment, okay? When you spilled whiskey all over me, I was sure you were gonna be an absolute prick, but you were kind and funny and thoughtful. And when I was miserable and lonely, you swept in and asked me to dance—you. Asked me. And then you just kissed me so good, I thought I was gonna have to scream for a few minutes there, and—do you know how long it’s been since someone kissed me like that? ”
Oof. Okay, way more than I’d meant to say. Post-orgasm clarity and shit. Yikes.
His eyes went wide behind his glasses. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad about not wanting to—”
“I do want to,” I interrupted.
“You…” He paused. Frowned even harder. “No, I just mean, I was trying to explain that I understand, and I know why you feel that way, and it kinda ties into a bunch of things I need to work through. I just want you to know that I’m—even if you don’t want to see me ever again, I’m gonna work on it, you know? I hear you.”
“It’s not that,” I insisted. “It’s just that I can’t do the secret thing. Ever again.”
Was that a little bit his fault? Yeah, I mean, obviously. But if it hadn’t been him, it would’ve been someone else. And at least his ass was trying to give me some closure, even if it was eight years too late.
“I would never, ever ask you to be a secret again,” He squeezed my hand and scooted forward, so our knees bumped together. “I thought, when I asked you to dance…”
Oh. Yeah, that… had been really public, actually.
Oh Jesus. Jesus Christ, he’d actually been listening when I made that obviously-not-a-joke about wanting him to ask me to prom, hadn’t he? This wily motherfucker. Ugh, my mouth was gonna be the death of me.
But still. “You made it sound like it was just to fuck with Kacey.”
“I mean, it was fun timing, but that had nothing to do with the boner I had the entire time.” He pulled my hand closer, glanced at it.
Then paused, as if whatever he was about to do was a bad idea somehow.
Then he looked up through his devastating eyelashes again.
“Or how I wanna stay here and make out with you all night.”
“I…” I swallowed hard, mostly to keep myself from saying that I wanted that too. I mean, I would’ve appreciated a bottle of Evian first, yeah, but Jesus Christ this boy could kiss.
And then I realized what he was getting at. He hadn’t been about to ask me to meet up for another clandestine blow job? “Oh, fuck. So, then…?” I didn’t even know what question to ask at this point.
“Tomorrow?” he prompted.
“Right. I…” I swallowed hard. Couldn’t bring myself to speculate. I needed to hear him say it. “I cut you off. What about tomorrow?”
“It’s Sunday, and there’s usually a matinee at the Benedum or O'Reilly.” His face reddened in the moonlight. “Couple of good restaurants down there too. Maybe a drink? A show? Dinner?”
Just to be clear, I said, “You and me. Downtown.”
“On a date. Yeah.”
Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Was this some kind of time-loop wet dream or something?
He said, “Just think about it. I had to shoot my shot, this time. Never forgive myself if I—”
“I don’t need to think about it,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
Oh god. Oh fuck. What was I doing? What was he doing? Was this real? Was this idiotic? What the fuck?
His face lit up like the sun. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Deep breath. “Really.”
“Great.” He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it, then let me go.
I smiled at him before turning back around to get my boots on—and taking a second to think through what the fuck had just happened.
I was happy. Obviously I was fucking happy, because he was hot and nice and made good apologies.
But I was also concerned, because why had I even thought he’d default back to the way things used to be? Everything he’d said, done tonight was…
Not enough to outweigh the past. The weight I’d put on the past?
Jesus Christ, I was really a hot mess. I sighed as I finished lacing up my boots and said, “I was trying to explain that anyone who thinks you’re disappointing is a moron, but I ended up talking myself into being kind of into you. Jesus.”
“I mean.” He shrugged. “Again: Both is good.”
I stood and leaned down to look him in the eye. “You’re paying.”
He held up both hands and said the magic words again: “Anything you want, Diego.”