Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Well, this is fucking bullshit.
I am sitting next to Xander in our sleep study bed that somehow has shrunken from what felt like a king-size mattress where I couldn’t get enough of touching him to a single where I have to consciously be aware of every tiny movement so we don’t touch.
After Xander left, I hung around the alcove where I awkwardly had to share the outdoor space with one waiter who was vaping like his lungs depended on it.
In that moment, I deeply appreciated the addictive nature of social media because that guy did not look at me once.
He just sat there, scrolling and vaping until his alarm went off.
Then he took one last hit, got up, almost walked into me, and said, “Oh” before leaving.
The perk of being invisible is that he didn’t see me spiral over my confrontation with Xander. Brought to you be the capital L.
Love.
Fuck.
The whole point of commando crawling out the door without so much as a “thanks for the orgasms” was so we could avoid this.
Whose idea was it to fuck around with feelings and find out while I’m contractually attached to Xander for the next twelve hours? Em. I blame Em. That’s what friends are for.
I should be at home with Em. Talking shit about Xander. Drinking my body weight in margaritas. Celebrating the fact that I dodged the drama. I should not be here, discovering that if you concentrate hard enough, you can unlock the superpower to feel the air around every hair on your arm.
The side effect of this superpower is that when you think about said arm hair for too long, it starts to feel itchy.
And scratching my elbow has me inadvertently touching Xander, who is keeping it very professional.
He doesn’t make a disgusted sound when our arms brush.
Like my presence isn’t even an inconvenience.
Meanwhile, it feels like every single cell has gravitated toward my arm hairs hoping to cop a feel.
He was already at the sleep study when I arrived, which naturally means he’s established the upper hand, thus causing me to second-guess every single breath I take.
My body feels so loud and obvious.
And like undesirable number one.
And yet …
God, I fucking want you, Ash. And I love you.
My brain glitches out replaying his love confession, sending my body hot and cold. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do with that? I’m a Hutchinson.
We don’t find The One. We find family. And we find lovers. And they aren’t ever the same person. And we’re better off for it. We’re happy.
Did I Google the neuroscience of love and lust in the backseat of the Uber on the way here?
Yes. For I am a fact-loving teacher who can’t ignore science.
And sure, Xander got me on a technicality.
Because while love and lust are distinct they’re also interconnected, meaning his love confession is probably true.
He wants me.
And he loves me.
But me? Hi. I’m the asshole. It’s me. And this is exactly why doctors don’t want you to Google anything. It’s always cancer.
The temperature in the room drops significantly.
I don’t know if it’s the air conditioner kicking into high gear or if it’s because I’m just a cold-hearted bitch, but I need to get under these blankets.
The only problem is, Xander’s lying on top of them, next to me, with music in his ears.
Pretending I don’t exist. Which is actually fucking perfect.
He offered a quick head tilt when I walked in. You know, the kind of greeting you give someone you haven’t seen in years in the freezer aisle of Trader Joe’s. The gesture that means you do not want, under any circumstances, to encourage any more conversation.
I try to pull the sheets back to climb under, but Xander is rock solid. That hard, muscular body weighs a ton. I’m basically half-under, which isn’t good enough for the current state I’m in. I need to be swaddled by this sheet.
I muster as much strength as I can for one final yank, and I honestly don’t know what I was expecting. Like yanking this hard was going to have the tablecloth effect, just slipping straight out from underneath Xander’s body and onto mine.
Again, I am not a physics teacher, and yet even I know that was never going to happen. Desperate times, and all that.
I end up throwing myself off the bed, landing square on my ass.
I look up at the ceiling, annoyed as all fuck.
I swear to God, if I can get through tonight, the final night of our sleep study, I will—I cut myself off.
I don’t need to be making any more deals with Xander.
Or with the devil. And sure as shit not God.
A moment later, I catch the sight of the curls before I even see his face.
They’re just hanging over the mattress. Then, his hazel eyes appear.
They dance with mischief. And I ignore the fact that my heart leaps.
I can’t look away. So instead, I brace for impact.
Then, I see his smart mouth. He holds it in a straight line and just when I think I’m out of the woods, he has the audacity to unleash a smirk.
Then, he pulls out one of his earbuds before saying through a laugh, “You good, Hutchinson?”
“I’m just great,” I say, through gritted teeth. Obviously, I’m not fucking great. And I’m not talking about the bruise on my ass bone that’s already starting to form.
His eyes dance over my face, just drinking me in.
I removed all the makeup from the wedding.
My hair is in a high ponytail. And I’m wearing his pajamas.
Captain America boxers and all. It kind of became my uniform when we were—for lack of a better word—together.
In theory, I should feel defenseless. But I don’t.
Then, his eyes linger on my shoulder, where his T-shirt has slipped, exposing my bra, and his eyes flare like I’m a slut from the twenties exposing too much skin.
Now it’s his turn to shake it off. I see him blink away that thought, but too late.
It’s now stuck in my head. He scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip.
Of course he does. Nothing like being distracted by filthy thoughts about those lips scraping over my inner thigh when you need to focus on the fact that what we had is over. Fleeting and finished.
He stretches one arm out for the assist. And I stare at it like he’s grown a new appendage.
“You want to help me?” I say, sarcasm coming in thick. I don’t believe it. I hurt you.
“Yes, I do,” he says, so clear it can’t be misinterpreted. I love you.
“This isn’t some prank?” I say. Why would you?
“No,” he says. I’m not like the others.
I need to put an end to this emotional whatever-the-fuck. So I reach out for Xander’s hand and he pulls me up.
And my lips crash into his. Hard. Hot. Heavy. Stop talking.
His tongue responds, dining out on mine like it’s his last supper. I can feel him being sucked back into my orbit. He hauls me into his lap without breaking contact. My heart rate picks up and this time, I go with it. I let it beat wildly out of control. For Xander.
But the heart rate monitor starts going off. And it’s over just as quickly as it began.
We just stare at each other, gasping for air, unwilling to move on from this moment. His eyes search mine, looking for an answer. Looking for everything he’s wanted.
Looking for all of me.
And yet, I falter. Again. And he sees it. Sees me holding back. So he pulls away.
“I can’t do this with you anymore.” His words have the same effect as taking a cold shower.
“I’m sorry,” I say, crawling off him. Because of course I ended up in his lap straddling him.
“It’s okay. I can’t force you feel anything for me,” he says, accepting his fate. He returns the earbud back to his ear and settles back in.
Funny thing is, that’s exactly what he’s doing.
Making me feel everything.
There’s a knock on the door, and Ben enters the room. It only takes him a moment to look between us before he says, “Is everything okay?”
Yep. Just fucking great.