Chapter 30 Knox
CHAPTER THIRTY
KNOX
Iuse the same key from under the mat to unlock the front door once more, knocking a few times, as I do just in case she's naked in there or something. But as I slowly push the door open, all I hear is a surprised “Knox? Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I say, moving into the loft, my eyes searching for Lottie.
I find her laid out on the bed, right where I first found her just an hour ago.
This time she looks better, though. There's more color in her face, more light, and while I can tell she's still in some pain, she doesn't look consumed by it anymore.
Phew.
I exhale the breath I seemed to be holding the entire time I was out shopping.
“You look cozy.” She’s perfect and beautiful, wrapped in her comforter like a cocoon.
“I am. But. I mean, what are you doing back?” She sits up in bed, gnawing at her lower lip. Guilt. Guilt is all over her face. “Not that I’m not happy you’re back, it’s just—” “I just left to get more supplies for you.” “S-Supplies?” Her lower lip trembles.
“Yeah. I didn't know whether you use pads or tampons, or which brand, because I didn't get the chance to ask you. So I got a bunch of different ones. I got a sales lady to help me out with that, though. So don't worry.” Her jaw drops slightly. “You… what?”
“She got a kick out of it, too.” I laugh but stop abruptly when I see her start to cry. “Hey, no. What’s wrong?” I run to the side of her bed, showing her the contents of the bag. “Don’t cry—I brought some snacks, too!” But that only makes her start crying harder.
“You’re so sweet and I was h-horrible to you before. I’m s-so s-sorry.” She wraps her arms around my neck, pulls me into a tight hug. “Thank you for coming back.”
I smile into her neck, my chest constricted. “Of course. Of course I came back. I was always gonna come back, Pretty Girl.” She sniffles once and nods, but I just tighten my grip around her, relishing in the feel of her body against mine.
When I can still feel her crying, I try to lighten the mood. “By the sheer amount of wrappers all over the apartment, I figured you were a Dove Dark Chocolate Squares girl, so I got you some more of those.” It works, because she pulls away and looks at me with a wet smile, cheeks flushed.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I also got you some cookies, chips, and my personal favorite: Cinnamon Toast Crunch.” I pull the box from the bag and hold it up like a trophy. “Plus, two types of milk for the cookies and cereal—almond and regular—so that I don't have to drink that nut water you love so much.”
She stares back at me, eyes red-rimmed, lips trembling. “You did all this for me? Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Because I’m falling in love with you, I almost say, surprising myself.
If I’m being honest—truly, one hundred percent honest with myself—I’ve been falling for this girl since the second I laid my eyes on her that night at the bar.
She’s a goddess and I want to worship at her feet every day for the rest of my life.
I’m not going to deny it’s how I feel any longer. At least to myself.
To Lottie, however… I can’t tell the most skittish woman in the world that she’s it for me, even if it feels that way.
Not when she’s been so adamant about keeping boundaries between the two of us.
Not when she continues to put up a new wall, as soon as I knock one down.
So instead of telling her how I feel, instead of telling her I’m here to support her because I care for her in ways that would terrify her, I say, “We have a kind of odd relationship, right? But even with that, we are friends. And you’re not feeling well.
So we’re gonna hang out, and I’m gonna help take care of you, okay? Just like friends do.”
I want to bang my head against the wall for how many times I brought up the F-word, wishing I were brave enough—that we were both brave enough—to delete it from our vocabulary once and for all.
“Thank you, but I don’t need your help, really. You don’t have to do this.” But she doesn’t say it in the tone she normally would, like she’s trying to push me away in earnest.
“Lottie,” I say, setting down the rest of my loot on her small kitchen table.
I walk back and take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in mine.
“You’re not okay right now. And I wanna help.
So I’m gonna hang out for a while. You can sleep and I can chill on the couch— read a little, maybe.
Or we can watch a movie together. Whatever. Let me help you. Please?”
Her eyes travel over my face for a second, searching, before she smiles softly and whispers a hesitant, “Okay.”
My stomach flips at the opportunity to be able to do this for her, to show her I care, to help her while she isn’t feeling well. “Okay, then. Let me prepare us some food and snacks while you set up your favorite comfort movie or show for us.”
She grimaces and shakes her head. “I—I don’t have a comfort movie.”
I laugh once. “Lies.” I make my way to her stove, searching for the box of Mac ’N Cheese so I can get it started. Turning to give her a look, I say “We all have a comfort movie. Bonus points if it’s embarrassing.”
I grin when I watch her sink lower into the bed, cheeks flushing. “Promise not to laugh?”
“Absolutely not.”
Lottie rolls her eyes. “That’s not fair. You need to promise.”
I laugh. “Come on,” I whine, but she stands firm. “Okay, I promise not to laugh at your guilty pleasure comfort movie.”
“It’s, ah, Twilight. My comfort movie is Twilight.”
I press my lips together to suppress a laugh, but I’m honestly not surprised.
I’m too young to remember the book frenzy, but I know a lot of women my age are obsessed with the movie franchise—though I have no idea why.
The idea of a sparkly vampire and werewolf romance doesn’t particularly appeal to me. But for her, I’ll watch it.
Still, I laugh. “You don’t strike me as a Twilight fan, if I’m being honest.” Though by now I know her hard exterior is a consequence of being hurt bad by life and love, not because she doesn’t have the capacity for it. To be filled to the brim by it, to be able to give it to the right person.
Hopefully me, someday.
She huffs, sitting up in bed. “I’m not exactly a Twihard,” she starts. “But you could say I was a—ahem—fan of the books. I confess I did have an Alice Cullen Fan Club t-shirt at one point.”
This time, I can’t help the laughter as it rolls out of me. “Ooh, I can just see you waiting in line at midnight outside of the bookstore for the last book in the series.”
She shoots me a look, cheeks tinged in an adorable pink.
“So, which one are we watching? I haven’t seen any of them, but I’m sure I’ll catch up quickly.”
She eyes me suspiciously for a moment. “You’re staying?”
“Of course I am. I’m making you food, aren’t I?”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest, her hard exterior making a reappearance.
“Okay, but I’m doing a marathon. Watching all five of them,” she threatens. “It’s the only way to do it.”
“Jesus, there’s five of them?”
“Four books, five movies.”
Five movies is around ten hours of uninterrupted Lottie time.
“It’s fine. We can watch them all,” I shrug, like I don’t care.
Because honestly, I don’t. My heart is already racing in anticipation at getting to spend this time with her, one-on-one, just being together.
It’s all I want right now—more than sex.
We make it two minutes into the movie before I laugh in her hair. “You’re so cute right now. You’re so into the movie. But don’t worry; I’m not judging.”
“The books were better,” she grumbles, cheeks reddening. “Though we’ve already had this discussion about book adaptations in general, haven’t we?”
“Yes.” I press a kiss to the top of her head, obsessed with everything about this moment.
I’m in her space, holding her. She’s letting me take care of her while feeling safe enough to be vulnerable and share her guilty pleasure.
Tonight feels like we aren’t expiration dating, don’t have this deadline or dagger being held over our heads.
Tonight feels like it would if this were real. I’m on cloud nine and she has no idea.
“So are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?” I ask, midway through New Moon, her least favorite movie (“God, I hate and love them so much,” she’s repeated three times now.).
“Because this Jacob guy is coming on real strong. But isn’t Edward supposed to be the love of her human and eternal life or some shit? And why is Jacob always shirtless? When does Edward come back?”
“Whoa, okay.” She snorts, shifting in my arms. She pauses the movie and looks me straight in the eye.
“Okay, you need to listen to me very closely. You will need to make up your own mind about which team you’re on.
And not to put any pressure on you or anything, but this thing between us will immediately be over if you get it wrong.
Because, despite what people say, there is a right and wrong answer. ”
“Is there, now?” I smirk, fighting the urge to kiss her.
“Yes.”
I run my fingertips softly up and down her thighs.
“Oh yeah?” Her cheeks flush, breathing speeds.
“And you’re not gonna give me a hint on where you stand?
” My eyes roam hungrily over her body, and even in her current state of loungewear—leggings, fuzzy socks, New York University oversized sweatshirt, messy bun, and glasses—I’ve never seen her look sexier.
Because she’s her. She’s Lottie. She’s letting me see her naked, even if she’s covered in layers.
“Stop that,” she whispers, her eyes closed.
“Sorry.” I pull my hand away immediately, slightly ashamed of myself. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable—especially since you’re in pain. I… I forgot.” I shrug, wincing at my lame excuse, even though it’s the truth.
“It’s not that. I’m not in as much pain anymore, thanks to you.
” Her smile is soft, but it lances through my heart every goddamn time.
And I’m sure I’ll never forget it, not if I live a thousand years.
“I’m just… you know. And what you were doing…
” She reaches out now, her fingers moving softly from the palm of my hand all the way to my inked forearms, tracing the lines of my tattoos. “It just felt really good.”
I smirk. “You know, in all my googling, it said orgasms were good for period cramps.”
She laughs awkwardly and looks away. “That’s nice, but I’m not into that.”
“Orgasms? Weird of you to say, since you look like you do whenever I give them to you.”
She rolls her eyes, her pink cheeks turning crimson. “I meant period sex,” she says in a low voice, terror in her tone.
I sputter a laugh. “Why are you making it sound like it’s something dirty or something? It’s completely normal.”
“Periods or period sex?”
“Both!”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Like I’ve just told her I love to eat my own boogers for breakfast or something gross like that.
“Maybe it’s a generational thing.” I shrug. “My people don’t care about shit like that.”
Lottie snorts and smiles fondly down at me before returning to her rightful place in my arms. I pull her closer into me as she makes herself comfortable on my chest. “Regardless, this old lady isn’t into it.”
“Okay, Lottie. Though orgasms aren’t limited to sex. There are other ways to get you off.”
She glares at me, shooting me down with a look. I chuckle and kiss the top of her head, inhaling her scent. “Let’s keep watching, then.” I squeeze her tightly and she hits play.
Lottie lasts only a few minutes into the third movie before she falls asleep.
Gently, I remove her glasses and place them on her nightstand, turning off the light.
I could leave now, but I don’t move an inch, letting her doze on my chest while I watch her.
Soaking in every moment I get with her, memorizing the feel of her body against mine.
I run my fingers through her hair as the tightness in my heart grows, the thought that I’ll have to leave soon, that as soon as we finish renovations and sell the store she’ll drop me like a hot potato, whether she stays or really does move back to New York.
And me? I’ll go back to my lonely life as a nomad, taking pictures of other people’s lives, not living my own. Except…
Except it doesn’t have to be that way, does it?