Chapter 21 #2
“At least drink some water in between,” he insists, topping up my glass. He’s finished with his meal and now just watches me like he’s expecting me to keel over any second.
“Wha? You don’t think I’m a cute drunk?” I let my bottom lip stick out.
He huffs, the sound fondly exasperated. Or maybe that’s what I wish it was.
“Oh, you are, very. But you’re always cute, don’t need booze for that.” He reaches over and gently pinches my lip, then taps it as if pushing it back in. “And I prefer it when you’re able to hold a conversation.”
I let my teeth graze his thumb, then flick my tongue over it. I grin at the surprise that flashes across his face.
“Conversation is sooo overted.” I frown. That didn’t sound right. “Overtaded. Over— Argh!”
“Overrated?”
“Yeah, that!” Such a stupid word.
“I see.” He seems to be trying very hard not to laugh. “Conversation is overrated.”
“Yup.” I nod firmly, toeing my shoes off and sliding my socked foot up Tyler’s shin under the table. “There are much better things we could be doing.”
His fingers close around my ankle, warm against my cool skin.
“Bunny...behave,” he says, eyes sparkling with mirth.
“What?” I feign innocence, using my other foot. He catches that one too.
“You’re a menace,” he informs me, pushing my legs together and propping them on his thighs. “Stay.”
“Why? I wanna touch you.”
“I think you want to do more than that.”
“So? You don’t want me to?”
“Not when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m tipsy.”
“Same difference.”
“It was just one drink.” I try to reason with him.
“Two.”
“One and a half.” I haven’t finished the second.
“Jamie,” he says. Jamie, not bunny. It’s quiet. It sounds very loud. “Not like this.”
He’s not being mean. He doesn’t even look upset. He’s just…putting up a boundary.
And it stings.
He doesn’t want me when I’ve been drinking.
What other boundaries is he going to draw?
How long before I have nowhere to move between them? How long before they slowly cut me out of his life?
I pull my legs back and tuck my feet haphazardly in my shoes. Shame burns hot and sticky inside me, pushing tears into my eyes.
“Jamie.” Tyler leans over the table, reaching for my hand. I let him, mostly because I can’t help but crave a point of connection between us. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying not now.”
“Same difference,” I throw back in his face, instantly regretting it. Especially when I see the hurt flashing in his eyes. “Sorry.”
He sighs, and glances outside the window. “It’s not pouring as much now. We should head home while it lasts.”
I nod, following him silently. I don’t protest when he pays for the whole bill and pretend not to see his pointed look when I trip over my feet on the way out and he has to hold me up.
The drive home is painfully quiet, but at least it’s short.
I never thought a time would come when I’d feel tense and suffocated in Tyler’s presence, but I do.
It’s not his fault, it’s nothing he has done.
It’s me, getting myself in situations that end up turning against me.
Like drinking to feel more connection with another person and only creating distance.
I need to sober up. Quickly.
I don’t hesitate when Tyler tells me to take a shower once we get home.
I turn the temp to cold to really wake myself up, shivering the whole time.
Tyler goes in after me, and while he’s showering, I chug down two glasses of water at once and head to his room.
There, I strip, grab the lube from the nightstand and make quick work of loosening myself up.
If I’m nice and ready for him by the time he comes back, there’s no way he’ll refuse me.
It’s a quick process. He’s been inside me so often and for so long, it feels like my body has molded to the shape of him. Now it feels strange in his absence.
When I hear the bathroom door open, I wipe my fingers on a couple of tissues and resume my position.
I flip onto my tummy facing the headboard, stuffing a pillow under my hips to create more curve.
Then I bend one leg and pull it up to my chest, opening myself up fully.
Closing my eyes, I pretend to be completely relaxed.
I don’t even have to look to see if Tyler’s here—the sharp intake of breath tells me.
“Bunny…” Yes! He’s back to using the petname. “What are you doing?”
“Resting,” I reply without opening my eyes.
“In a position that’s gonna give you sciatica?”
I wriggle my hips, blinking one eye open. “It’s comfy.” It really isn’t. So it would be nice if he’d hurry over and rail me into the mattress.
Letting out a low, warm chuckle, he walks over. I have to bite my lip not to smile.
The mattress dips as he sits on the edge right next to me and runs his palm over my bare hip. I pull my knee up higher.
He sighs heavily. “What should I do with you, huh?”
Summoning a coy expression, I bat my eyelashes. “You could fuck me.”
Tyler doesn’t join me in my game as I expect him to. His hand stops on my waist and his eyes flick to mine. I love it when he looks at me with lust and desire, but there’s none of it now. His gaze is clear and serious.
“As tempting as it is…” he starts, “I won’t do that.”
I tense up, then push myself up on my elbows. “What? Why not?”
He lets go of me completely. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I’m not drunk.” I assume that’s what he’s hinting at.
“It was just one drink—one and half,” I correct quickly before he does.
“And I’ve drunk plenty of water. I’m fine.
” It’s annoying, though, that he clearly has a rule about not sleeping with someone who’s been drinking, and yet he was more than happy to let me drink.
Even encouraged it, saying how cute I must be.
Another sigh. “Jamie—”
“You said later. It’s later.” Technically, he said ‘not now’, but the implication was there.
“Bunny, what’s going on? Are you this upset because I said no at first?”
At first? He’s still saying no.
I sit up, facing him but dropping my gaze to my lap. “Anyone would be upset if they got rejected.”
He jerks back as if I slapped him. “Oh, bunny. I wasn’t rejecting you. I just…”
“Didn’t wanna do it with someone who’s been drinking? Fine, I get it. But it’s totally out of my system now.” Shifting onto my knees, I place a hand on his thigh and give him my best puppydog eyes. “So, can we?”
His throat bobs, two small wrinkles appearing between his brows.
“I think…it’s better if we don’t.”
I snatch my hand back. “What? Why?”
“Because you’re upset.” Then he adds, “You’re upset with me.”
I’m not, actually. I’m upset with myself, for always running head-first into situations that bring me nothing but pain.
“Let’s say I am. You think it’s a good idea to keep rejecting me? How’s that supposed to help?”
“Jamie…” He starts to reach for me, but seems to change his mind at the last second. “I think you’re getting too worked up about this.”
Yeah, no shit.
“Wouldn’t you?” I snap. “If your fuckbuddy suddenly didn’t want to have sex with you, would you be cool about it?”
“Fuckbuddy,” he echoes, testing the sound of the word as if it’s something he just learned for the first time. “Is that all we are? Fuckbuddies?”
How dare he sound so dejected? He was the one to propose this arrangement, so why is he acting surprised?
Okay, now I’m mad at him. And yet, everything inside me wants to cling to him and tell him that no, he’s not just a fuckbuddy to me. He’s everything.
“We agreed to have sex, for mutual benefit,” I say, like reading from a manual: Fuckbuddy Arrangements for Dummies. “What else do you wanna call it? It’s not like we’re boyfriends.”
Fuck, it hurts to say. And I’m so terribly pathetic for hoping for even a second that he would say something along the lines of: ‘But I want to be. Let’s do it. Let’s turn this into something real.’