43. Because The Night #3
“That’s obsessive, right? Remembering that shit?” I narrow my eyes at him. “I can’t even remember the goddamn capital of my own state. All I know is, it ain’t Manhattan. Which is stupid ‘cause Manhattan’s the biggest fuckin’ city we got. So that’s—that’s crazy you’d remember that.
“Like word-for-word and all.”
I jab a finger at him.
“You’re fuckin’ crazy.
“As a matter of fact, this is all crazy if you really think about it. Like obsessed-stalker crazy. Me? I don’t even remember your last name.”
Andrew Joseph Harding.
His hands leave me,
and he pulls away, nodding.
“You think it’s crazy? That I’m crazy, huh?” He laughs, but it leaves defeated. “Fine. Then yeah, I’m crazy about you, Allison. You drive me FUCKIN’ INSANE. What else you want me to say?”
The pool hall door swings open.
A group of girls eye us as they pile out.
Their giggling dominos down the line of the building.
“Well, well, well, look at this.
“She’s about to get the Harding special.”
“Girl, you in for a real good time.”
They explode into laughter again.
Andrew steers me away against the brick, turning his back to them, blocking them out.
“Ignore ‘em,” he mutters in my ear.
But I can see in his eyes, in the way he’s looking at me, the same lingering terror that comes with sleep paralysis. As if he’s finally waking up from a nightmare, but still halfway stuck in it.
We keep each other’s gaze,
the rest of the world blurring out.
And my voice starts with a sigh, “You find a love letter from Brandon in my room, Andrew,” I say, my words staying between us.
“And your response is to pretend I don’t exist for six days, then ask to move in together.
Share the same bed every night. Threaten me with monogamy, knowin’ it was never an option for us. ”
He shakes his head slow,
like I’m missing context,
like it’s not like that.
But I’m nodding.
“That’s not romantic, Drew.
“That’s a red flag.
“You’re a giant walking red flag.”
A scoff-laugh slips past his lips. “Red. Yeah,” he flicks his palm up at me, “used to be green… ‘Til I fuckin’ bled all over it.”
My eyes roll. “Lemme guess—throw some white on it and boom, now it’s Italian.”
A laugh buckles out of him. “Callin’ out my flag? That’s low-key sexy, baby. I’m proud of you.”
I shake my head,
laying my hand on his chest.
“Nah. That’s not sexy, Drew.
“That’s too much. Too fast.”
He leans a shoulder against the brick, hip cocked, hand in his pocket like he’s modeling for Levi’s, looking at me, his stare lethal.
His mouth parts—
then snaps shut again.
“What?” I say.
“You got somethin’ to say?”
Andrew wets his bottom lip.
“Got nada. Changed my mind.”
I roll my head back. “Drew, if you got somethin’ to say, just say it.”
His fingers trace the line of my mini skirt. “I don’t trust myself to say it anymore.” He lifts a shoulder. “Better if I keep this one to myself.”
I click my tongue.
“Yeah. I don’t think so.”
He pushes up his sleeve,
standing straighter. “Aight, fine.”
And that eyebrow goes up, like—
don’t forget, baby. You asked for it.
“You keep actin’ like this is a choice. But it’s not,” he says, gesturing between us.
“It’s already happening. We’re knee-deep.
We’re already fuckin’ in it.” He throws his arm back, thumb toward the dark.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but we already crossed your lines and broke your rules night one. We did that. Together. And for two months you been scramblin’, tryin’ to re-write it, fix it, forget it.
But you can’t. It’s done. And ever since?
You and me got a bad habit of wantin' each other.”
He says night one, and my mind flashes to him in the basement, mid-orgasm—pulse in his throat, eyes soaked, lips shaking against mine—until his voice yanks me back.
His arm falls to his side.
“C’mon, Allison.
“Give us a fair shot at this.
“Let’s do it together, right now.
“You and me.”
I step back from him.
I can’t think straight when he’s this close.
His hand curls into a fist, his chest holding through the silence, Adam’s apple dragging under a tight jaw.
The seconds tick slow, cold air chewing at the tips of my ears, snow crunching under someone’s boots as they pass.
I should tell him to fuck off.
But the whole time I’m standing there,
staring at him through my lashes,
I’m thinking,
Yeah, he’s fucking crazy.
But so am I.
So I surrender,
closing the distance,
pulling myself into him again,
my arms slipping around his waist under the plaid, heat pumping through the white tee. “Okay,” I say.
And with that one word,
his whole body melts.
All tension rolls off him.
His arm comes around me, holding me close. “Jesus. Don’t ever pause that long again,” he exhales, chest caving. “Nah, for real. You know I’m a dramatic lil bitch, you had me seein’ the end.” Then his forehead rests against my hairline, breathing me in.
But all I can see is me a year from now,
floating in the pool,
mascara streaked and staining my face,
looking up at the night sky
on a cold night like this,
thinkin’ how drowning would hurt less.
And while I’m in the deep end,
there’s Ben in my head, told you, Baby.
I try to shake it from my mind. “So tell me. We playin’ 8-ball for contract terms now?” I ask. “How’s this gonna go?”