29. Evelyn
29
Evelyn
“ W hen have you been going to sleep recently?” Garrett asks as he walks toward the right side of the bed. I look up from where I’m lying and rotate on top of the covers as he picks up the pillow and pats it into what I assume is his preferred position.
We’ve each taken turns in the en suite bathroom, changing and showering. I had to stare very hard at my phone when he came out in sweatpants and a pale blue shirt clinging to his damp skin. He might as well be naked.
Okay not really, but close.
“Ha.” The sound escapes from me in a gust of air. “Sometime between one and four in the morning. You know, that type of sleep where you close your eyes and everything is just hazy.”
“You wake up and never know if you actually slept.” He follows my train of thought.
“Reminds me of seltzer water.”
“Or those lime tortilla chips.”
“Yes. Exactly that.” I almost cheer as I sit up and point. I’m so close that my finger lands on his chest. I pull it away faster than if I had touched a hot stove.
His eyes follow my hand and his brows pull tight. I used to think that the expression indicated he was judging me, but now I’m not so sure. With how familiar I am with that expression, how often I’ve earned it in response to stupid jokes, that would mean he’s spent a lot of time thinking about me. The possibility makes my mouth go dry.
Him thinking about me is one thing. Him thinking about me the way I’ve been thinking about him? That's entirely different.
“So, I guess we have a few hours to kill, unless we want to stare at the ceiling and pretend we’re sleeping, but I get anxious breathing around people when it’s super quiet,” I say, unable to stop the already mounting anxiety to turn into a ramble.
“That seems wildly inconvenient.”
“Okay, that’s not what I mean,” I stutter, then force myself to breathe. “I used to wear headphones and listen to music while I was walking around and then I just felt like I was breathing too loud in public so I would just, like, hold my breath.”
“Oh,” he mutters, but I’m looking away so he can’t see the pink flush I know is on my face.
“Yeah, I know, it’s embarrassing. I literally would stop myself from breathing if I thought it would bother someone,” I say as I start to turn to the night stand in search of my laptop. “Let’s just watch a movie or something.”
Garrett reaches, crossing the gap between us and holds my hand, drawing me back to him. I risk looking at him and am met with tender caramel eyes. “It’s not embarrassing. I mean, I hope you are comfortable breathing around me. You care about people so much. Sometimes I’m around you and it feels like you are on this earth to balance out all the people who don’t care enough.”
“I can breathe around you.” Most of the time at least. The exceptions are always moments like this when he steals the air from my lungs. I swallow hard as I work around the words caught in my throat. “So, a movie?”
“Yeah. You pick.”
I pull my laptop from the nightstand and position it between us. I’m navigating to Netflix from my browser’s bookmarked websites when lighting strobes through the sky. The lights flicker, fighting to stay on before the room goes dark. The only light left comes from the screen. I optimistically click my profile and the server shows an error.
“I guess we’re not watching a movie then,” I say and start to feel panicked. I need some sort of distraction if he’s going to lay next to me all night.
“Wait.” The bed dips as he turns away. “I have something downloaded on my phone.”
“ Wizard of Oz ?” I ask, teasing.
“ When Harry Met Sally .”
“I thought you said you never watched it, because if you have you could have spared us my very long explanations,” I say.
“I haven’t. That’s why I have it downloaded. If you keep making references, I want to understand them,” he says. “I was planning to watch it this weekend.”
His words sound startlingly similar to I want to understand you . I need to find a way of stopping this line of thinking if it’s what I fall into when I’m around him. He doesn’t see me that way. He doesn’t do relationships. Hell, based on so much of what we’ve talked about, I don’t know if he even believes in love that way for himself. And I struggle to stay casual with things. If something happens I’ll keep wanting more.
“Oh,” I say. “It’s going to drain your battery.”
“It’s your favorite, right?”
My eyes are still adjusting to the darkness, but I know his every outline. I could close my eyes and it wouldn’t matter. If I was an artist I could draw him from memory.
“Yeah.”
“Then, it’s worth it.”
With the phone instead of a laptop we have to lean closer. Each of us tilt toward the screen, but there’s intention in how we keep an inch or two of distance.
Thirty minutes in, something relaxes between us. We meet halfway. His thigh pressing against mine. My head on his shoulder, obviously so I can get a better view, though I’m struggling to follow the movie. I convince myself that the only reason I’m not paying attention is because I’ve seen it so many times. I feel the flow of the movie like my own heartbeat. A heartbeat that I’m worried that he can hear thrumming loudly.
I blink and the credits are rolling. Even when the screen turns black, Garrett holds the phone in place, like he knows if he lowers it we have to move. This position is an excuse we only maintained because of the movie, but now it's gone.
“Sorry about earlier,” Garrett says when he finally lowers the phone.
“It’s fine,” I say, even though I’m not exactly sure what I’m saying I’m fine about.
“I don’t like how I snapped at you. I might not want to talk about work, but there was no reason to do that.”
“We all have our weak spots. No one is an island or however that saying goes.”
“Let me be sorry,” he insists. “You deserve more than that.”
“Maybe.” I give a wavering smile that he might not see in the dark.
“You do. You deserve so goddamn much.” The sentiment is a caress I dismiss.
“Says my fake boyfriend.”
I don’t know what I deserve. Who am I to judge that? In recent years, my wants and the wants of those around me have twisted and knotted together. As I’ve pursued the one thing I thought I wanted, I’ve driven a wedge between me and the people I care about.
“Maybe that’s what I am,” he says, not sounding pleased with it. “But, remember, as long as they’re here in this house, you’re mine.”
My mind goes to wondering what that would look like, only to conclude that I already know. I know how his hands feel pressed over fabric, on skin. How his firm mouth can work against my lips.
“Am I?” I utter.
“Why is that a question?”
“Because if I was, things would be different right now.”
“Eve. Please,” he rasps. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask. He shifts, pulling the blanket so it drifts across my heated skin.
“I want to read into every word that’s coming out of those pretty little lips.” The words press against my inhibitions.
“As if you can see me in the dark,” I taunt.
“I don’t need to. My imagination is enough to torment me.” And he does sound like he’s close to anguish at the admission. The thought does me in. Neither of us will get any sleep like this.
“I’m yours.” I swallow my last bit of hesitation. “Read into it.”
I expect him to collide into me, for both of us to let whatever has been building burst at the seams.
But he doesn't. His hand cups my face, and he’s so careful as he brushes his lips against my cheek, where a tremendous amount of heat is gathering.
He pulls back, his nose trailing a line against my cheek. “Tell me what you like.”
“You keep asking me what I want,” I say.
“Why shouldn’t you have it?” Teeth skate along my collar bone. “Why can’t I be the one who gives it to you?”
My lips part as I form an answer and his mouth finds mine, swallowing any words I could have said. I’m thankful for it because I don’t know what I would have anyway. I want this moment. I’ve wanted this moment for so long, I doubt I even knew I was craving the press of his fingers into my side when I was lonely.
He pulls away and one of my thoughts breaks loose. “What happens next?”
“Tonight. Give me tonight.” He rakes me across the gravel of his voice. His fingers creeping up my ribs persuade me.
Tonight. I can give us tonight. “Have tonight. Have me.”
I’m not wearing a bra so when he reaches higher, he palms my bare breast, his thumb brushing over a peaked nipple. My teeth catch at his bottom lip and I rock into him. His erection presses against my stomach. I steal a groan from him as my hand meets the taut fabric of his pants.
The knowledge that I did this to him stokes my own need to see more of him. My fingers tug at his shirt. He moves back from me to aid in the process of discarding it, but the moment it’s off, I’m back to touching him.
The occasional flash of lightning allows me to see him more clearly, how his stomach muscles ripple as my hand drags across them.
“Fuck. How is this so much better?” he groans.
“Better than what?”
“You touching me without anyone looking,” he gasps. “When you’re not thinking about anyone else.”
The thing is, whenever he touches me it’s like the parts of my brain thinking about anything else shut off. Like I’m physically incapable of not thinking about him. Instead of saying any of this out loud, I press my hand to his chest and guide him to lay on the bed. I sling a leg over his hips so I’m straddling him. My lips find his, and I grind against him trying to use the friction between us to ease the ache between my legs.
Snaking my fingers through his hair, I revel in knowing that I’m allowed to mess him up. He messes me up as well, makes me a fucking disaster in all the best ways, so we might as well match.
“Eve,” Garrett says. His hands land on my hips stopping my desperate movements. “Is this all you want?”
“Are you offering more?”
“Yes, but I won’t be able to last much longer if you keep up with what you’re doing. At this rate, I’m going to come in my pants.”
“I don’t have any condoms. Did you pack any?”
“No, that wasn’t exactly on my list of essentials,” he says. “I’m clean, I’ve had a vasectomy. But if you’re not comfortable without one we don’t have to.”
“You do?”
“I got it when I was eighteen.”
“Very responsible,” I say. “And I got tested two months ago, and haven’t been with anyone since.”
“Then, Evelyn, can I please?” Garrett asks as he hooks a finger under the waistband of my shorts.
“Are you going to be gentle with me?” I gasp.
“You’re the only person I know how to be gentle with,” he murmurs into my skin, causing my stomach to flutter.
I don’t want to admit that even before it’s started, I don’t want it to end. That I’m breaking the feeble promises I made to myself. I’m about to fall so far there is no coming back.
But I think it might just be worth it. We might be worth it.
He stares at me for a moment then kisses my cheek. His lips trail a meandering constellation, stars rising to prickle under the surface of my skin.
Cheek. Nose. Cheek. Corner of my lips. Neck. Lips.
Lips. His firm lips against mine. Asking. Wanting.
He pulls back and touches his forefinger against my lower lip. I pull the finger into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. The action draws a groan from him.
“And what if I don’t want you to be gentle?”
“Whatever you want,” he says as he lifts the hem of my shirt. His stare tracks each inch of exposed skin. “But you better be quiet or your friends in the other room will know exactly how obedient I can be.”
I impatiently help him the rest of the way, rolling my hips against him and his fingers latch on to my waist. “Show me exactly what you meant. Show me how you want to treat me like I’m yours.”
“How wet are you?” he demands.
“Why don’t you check?” I bite at my lip.
I lift my hips and plant my hands on his shoulders as his hand drags down the plane of my stomach. His hand slides underneath the elastic waistband of my shorts and over the cotton fabric of my underwear.
He pushes aside the fabric and slides a finger into me. “Soaked for me. Fucking hell.”
I grip his shoulders harder and attempt to swallow a moan. He adds another finger and works in and out of me as I match his movements with my hips. The press of the palm of his hand sends the most delicious feeling I’ve ever experienced rocketing through me.
“Fuck, Garrett. Yes,” I pant.
“What a fast learner. So fucking smart,” he says, and I moan. “Do you like that? Me telling you how fucking good you are?”
“Yes.”
He leans in so his words sweep against the shell of my ear. “So intelligent. Incredible at getting what you want, making yourself feel good. Is my girl going to come on my hand before she comes on my cock?”
“Yes.” The word rolls through me as my thighs start to shake.
The orgasm floods my system and Garrett holds me through it. Simultaneously breaking me and keeping me together.
“Are you okay?” he asks once the electricity under my skin fades, and I sink back into this gauzy version of reality.
“Yes. I would like another one of those please,” I say as I collapse on the bed next to him.
“Then I’ll give it to you.” His low chuckle rolls through me as he pushes upright so we’re in the opposite position as we were before. “Lift your hips for me so I can help you take these off.”
I do as I’m told. My shorts are gone and then so are his pants. I get a better look at all of him, but only for a moment before he demands my attention. “Is this how you want it to be?”
“Only got one position in you?”
“Once I’m in you, it will take everything in me to last, so you better tell me exactly how you want it.”
“Like this,” I say. I just want to see him, what I do to him, who I am to him. Only for tonight.
My leg hitches over his hip. He lines himself up and eases into me. I relish each inch of him. My body can’t comprehend anything outside of us. I clench around him.
“I’m almost there,” he coaxes.
“God. There’s more?” I’m not complaining by any means.
“Breathe, baby. Let your body learn how to take me.” He moves slowly, deliberately until we’re flush against each other. “Fuck, Eve,” he says into my hair.
He starts to move, picking up pace with every thrust of his hips. Frantic, trying to make up for everything that won’t come after this. Like every other moment dominated by his touch, I lose myself. My identity weaves itself from the fabric of my immediate reality.
There is no tomorrow, just now.
Now. Now. Now.
Us.