16. Carter
16
Carter
O h, fuck. Did I just… did I seriously just admit that to her?
The realization hits like a slow-motion catastrophe unfolding in my brain, every single alarm going off at once, my entire system screaming at me that I should have kept my mouth shut. This is not how I thought tonight would go, not how I pictured meeting Haven for the first time in person, not how I expected to be sitting here, watching her watching me, her fingers still resting on my wrist, her eyes still locked onto mine like she’s trying to figure out what the hell to do with me now that she knows.
She moves, not pulling back. Her hand slides up my arm, like she’s exploring, like she’s testing the way my body reacts to hers, mapping out the shape of me like she has every right to. I let her, I can’t stop myself. Because I want this… God, I want this, I want her, and I don’t know how to handle the fact that she’s here, that she’s touching me like she wants me too, that she isn’t running for the hills now that she knows how completely fucking unprepared I am for any of this.
My pulse is a hammer in my throat, my breathing completely uneven, my body already going too warm.
Her fingertips press into my bicep, slow, dragging down toward my wrist again before skimming back up, testing, feeling, learning.
And I can barely fucking process it. I should be enjoying this, should be letting myself sink into it, letting myself actually feel the fact that Haven is touching me, tracing me, memorizing me like she wants to know what I feel like beneath her hands.
But instead, all I can think about is Tate, who is upstairs. Tate, who has never had to deal with this, who doesn’t hesitate, who doesn’t overthink, who isn’t sitting here completely wrecked because a girl is touching him for the first time. Tate doesn’t have this problem, he wouldn’t be sitting here in complete fucking panic mode, wouldn’t be trying to ignore the fact that his body is reacting too fast, too eager, wouldn’t be struggling with the sudden pressure of Haven’s hands moving over his skin.
Tate would know exactly what to do next. I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second, dragging in a breath, trying to force myself to stop thinking about it, stop comparing, stop making this something it doesn’t need to be.
This is about Haven. Who’s still watching me, still touching me, still looking at me like she isn’t put off by any of this, like she wants to keep going, like maybe she’s enjoying this just as much as I am.
I force myself to focus, to feel the weight of her palm pressing against my forearm, to process the way she’s studying my reactions, gauging my body’s response, letting herself explore like she’s discovering something new, something she wants to keep exploring. And it’s fucking killing me. Because this is new. This is the first time someone has looked at me like this, touched me like this, made me feel like this. And I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do next. I need to say something. I need to stop sitting here like I’ve been hit by a fucking freight train, like my entire world didn’t just tilt sideways the second Haven put her hands on me, like I’m not on the verge of completely combusting because I don’t know how to handle any of this.
But my throat is tight, my body locked up, my brain still short-circuiting at the fact that she isn’t pulling away, that she’s still touching me, still looking at me like she wants me just as much as I want her. And I can’t take it anymore.
“I—” I swallow hard, dragging in a breath, my words stuttering before they even form, my pulse pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. “I don’t—fuck, Haven, I don’t know what I’m doing, at all.”
Her hands still, her fingers flexing slightly where they rest against my arm, her eyes find mine, like she knows this is serious, like she knows I’m two seconds away from spiraling. “You don’t have to.”
I shake my head, letting out a rough, humorless laugh, dragging my hands through my hair, shifting slightly like that’s going to help shake the heat crawling up my neck, the tension riding my shoulders, the sheer fucking panic still clawing its way up my spine. “I just—I didn’t think it’d be like this,” I admit, voice uneven, barely holding together. “I didn’t think I’d—fuck, Haven, I didn’t think I’d have to figure this out with you.” Shit, I want it to be with her, did I just sound like a complete asshole?
Her expression shifts, “Carter,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, like she needs me to hear her. “I’m not expecting anything from you. There’s nothing you have to prove.”
I let out another shaky exhale, my fingers curling into fists against my thighs. I want to let this be enough, let her words settle in, let myself relax into the fact that she’s here, that she’s not pushing, that she’s not expecting me to magically know what the fuck I’m doing.
But I don’t know how. Because all I can think about is how I’ve never done this before, never let anyone close enough, never let myself have this. Now that I want her? I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do next. I drag in another sharp breath, forcing my hands to unclench, my fingers flexing against my thighs like that’s going to help me sort through the mess of emotions clawing their way to the surface.
But it doesn’t help. Nothing fucking helps. I can’t let her think for even a second that I don’t want this too. I tilt my head back, closing my eyes for half a second, letting my pulse even out, letting the words gather on my tongue before I finally let them go. “I want this.”
I feel her still beside me, feel her breath catch just slightly,. So I keep going. I have to, because if I don’t say this now I never will.
I turn my head, finally meeting her eyes, watching the way her lips part just slightly, watching the way her fingers twitch like she wasn’t expecting me to say it out loud. “I want you, Haven.”
Her lashes flutter, her throat bobs, but she doesn’t speak. She’s waiting. Letting me get it all out. I shake my head, exhaling hard, dragging a hand through my hair like it’s going to help slow my pulse.
“I’ve wanted you for almost a year,” I murmur, voice low, rough, so fucking honest it almost hurts. “Every time we talked, every time we played together, every time you messaged me first and I knew, for at least a little while, I got to have your attention, I wanted you. And now—”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out even though they feel like they’re cutting me open. “Now you’re here. And this is who you met up with.”
My stomach twists, my body locked up with tension, because I don’t know what she’s going to say, don’t know what she’s thinking, don’t know if she’s about to tell me this was all a mistake.
But she doesn’t look like she thinks this is a mistake. She looks like I just gave her something she wasn’t expecting, something she might actually want. Her fingers twitch, like she’s debating reaching for me again, like she’s seconds away from doing something that’s going to completely undo me.
And then… Of course. Of fucking course. A soft clap sounds from the doorway. I freeze. Haven stiffens beside me. And there, leaning against the frame like he didn’t just waltz in at the worst possible moment, like he doesn’t even slightly care about the fact that he just interrupted something he absolutely should not have been a part of, stands Tate.
His arms are crossed lazily over his chest, his weight shifted onto one leg, his expression neutral except for the unmistakable glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says.
Haven lets out an exhale that’s half a groan, dragging a hand over her face. “Seriously?”
Tate shrugs, pushing off the doorframe with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Not that Carter would know much about pleasure, right?”
My stomach fucking drops. Heat punches through my chest, up my neck, and into my ears so fast I can feel my entire body locking up, because I knew he wasn’t going to let me have this.
I clench my jaw so tight my teeth might break, my fists curling against my knees, my entire body screaming at me to not let him get under my skin.
Haven reacts first. She tilts her head, slow and deliberate, her lips twitching in a way that makes my stomach twist because I can already tell she’s about to say something reckless. She leans forward slightly, resting her elbow on her knee, voice dripping with the kind of challenge that makes Tate’s smirk widen immediately. “Well,” lifting a brow, studying him like she’s sizing him up. “That sounds like a whole lot of confidence from someone who wasn’t invited into this conversation.”
Tate’s grin sharpens, his eyes flashing with something dangerous, something entertained, something I don’t trust. “Not invited?” he repeats, tilting his head like he’s genuinely confused, like the very concept of boundaries is foreign to him. “Pretty girl, if I waited for an invitation, I’d miss all the fun.”
I groan internally, pressing my fingers into my temple, because I already know where this is going.
“Besides,” he adds, his voice dripping with amusement as he shifts his weight, arms still crossed over his chest, looking so fucking at ease while I am barely holding onto my sanity. “From what I heard, Carter could probably use a few pointers. Maybe a little…” His grin widens. “Guidance.”
Oh. My. Fucking. God. My stomach plummets so hard I swear I feel it hit the floor, heat climbing up my neck, through my ears, straight into my brain until I feel like I’m actively overheating. I don’t dare look at Haven.
I know she’s either laughing, or looking at me with those sharp brown eyes like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do, and I cannot deal with any of that right now. I shift, dragging a hand down my face, my entire body a stiff, uncomfortable mess of nerves and awkwardness, because I don’t know how the fuck I got here, but I need to get out of it. Haven is quiet for a second too long, which means she’s thinking, which means she’s about to say something that’s going to make this worse. I am about to combust.