23. Chapter 23 #2
The air in the room turns to fog, dense as it comes into my lungs and stays there.
It's harder to breathe, to know this about her.
I want to tell her it's a terrible injustice, that she deserves better.
That if she only lets me, I could give her what she needs.
That I could set the standard for what she should expect.
She only needs to give up on the happily ever after bit.
Fuck.
She laughs. "Oh my god. I shouldn't have said that. Will you forget I said that?"
"I can't forget it."
"Oh, well, then— fuck it. It's true, and you can do the math."
"What math?"
Because all my brain is doing is trying to argue that maybe, just maybe, Ames is thinking of flings and mind-blowing sex more than she is about long-term relationships that lead to forever.
This plus that, minus him, multiplied by me…
"Did you figure it out, yet, Sherlock?" She drinks the rest of her drink and goes to the kitchen, where she starts making herself another one. "Actually, don't bother. I'll tell you. One, you're unfairly sexy. Two, Aidan was boring in bed. Element—aril—ly."
She laughs like it's the funniest thing she has ever said.
I finish my drink and meet her in the kitchen. I lean on the island and watch her carefully. She takes my glass and makes me another drink, too.
She's frowning now, shaking her head.
"You okay, Ames? Let's switch to water for a bit."
"I hate him, Saint." She keeps working on the drink. "I mean, not really. But I hate him!"
"Me too."
The man got to have her for years by his side. He got to hold her, tell her beautiful things, have her think about him as worthy of her love and attention and warmth.
Aidan should have treasured her. He should have counted his lucky stars and held her close.
Instead he hurt her. He was a selfish jerk who chose what he wanted even if it would cause her pain. The worst kind of self-serving jackass.
She thinks my response is a joke and she snorts. "I tried to spice things up, too. I got a couple's vibrator— there are these vibes you can use together, I don't know if you know—"
"I know about them." I gulp.
I'm getting intoxicated too, but not because of alcohol. The conversation itself is a rollercoaster, getting me dizzy. The thoughts and feelings it's winding up has a lot to do with it as well, if I'm honest.
"Aidan was so offended." She pushes my drink closer to me, but I don't touch it. "He never let me use it. I bet you'd be okay using it."
"I would be okay," I croak.
I would be so eager. No point in lying.
But there may be a point in hiding how this conversation is affecting me. I dig my hands in my pockets, and fists my hands to create some extra room .
"I knew it!" She pumps the air. "I bet you're not boring in bed."
"I try not to be."
The words taste like flirting on my tongue.
My body has decided that this is foreplay, ignoring the way my brain screams for me to return to my senses.
The fact that I remember the way she moans, that I know she still has that vibrator, and that she's asking my opinion— it's all that matters right now.
She watches me with unwavering eyes. I can hear the thoughts in her mind, because I'm having them too. The heat sparking under her lashes is an echo of what I'm feeling deep in my gut.
Dangerous.
"I'll get us some water," I say in a low voice. "Maybe we should go to sleep…"
She licks her bottom lip and takes a step closer to me. Her hand comes to my chest, where a single finger makes it between the panels of my shirt. Her fingertip burns on my skin.
"Or just go to bed," she whispers.
Her touch is a spell. Lava replaces every drop of blood in my veins in an instant. It's a miracle my clothes don't simply combust.
It's a magical moment. Time itself is affected, uncaring of the laws of physics.
Right now, she wants me.
But it's not fully right .
What's happening is powerful enough to veil the answers. I hold myself still, until I can remember what the issue is.
I glance at my watch like I can process what it says. I immediately forget.
"It's getting late…" The terrible excuse embitters my mouth.
She steps closer. "I've never seen your room."
I gaze at her. No answer makes it through my lips. I don't know what to say.
Before I can figure it out, she grabs me by the waist, puts herself between me and the island, and brings me close.
"Fuck. Ames—"
My heart beats as fast as the wings on a hummingbird. Her fingers hook me from my pockets, and her nails scrape against my skin through the thin material, and I could perish from the sensation.
I cage her. It's not a conscious decision, but a needy, needy one. Her body is warm and lush against me. The stone is cold under my hands, and it's a poor respite for the fire burning in me.
"You said you were easy." One of her hands travels up my torso.
I lick my lips. I did say that. Followed by, you tell me I'm a good boy and I'll kneel at your feet.
I could end on my knees any moment now.
Several buttons are undone already. She finds the first closed one, and plays with it like she might undo it.
Dead. I'll be dead any minute now.
He died from an unrelenting erection, an all-encompasing fever, and high blood pressure resulting from holding back when his friend's sister tried to seduce him.
"I meant—" I stutter. "What I meant was—"
But I've forgotten. She stares at my mouth, and the one hand leaves my chest so she can run a fingertip over the bottom lip. I shiver. A strangled sound makes it out of my throat.
"The other day, when you got hard…" Her voice is breathy. "Was that just…"
"Nothing… just… about it."
She frowns. Licks her lips. My chest works like I'm sprinting. I'm harder than I've been in my entire life.
It takes inhumane effort not to push my erection against her. Not to take her mouth and do what I so desperately need to do.
She pulls at me from my shirt. "Maybe… since we're living together… you could show me your room…"
I resist. She lifts herself to her toes. Her lips come close and I feel her breath on my skin— it's an invitation to kiss her.
I'm overtaken by my need for her .
Through the haze, a high-pitched screech breaks through my mind. It's a message. It's sharp. Nails down a blackboard. Relentless.
All the things I felt the other night when I gave in and used my hand are still true.
Truest of all is that she's half-drunk.
"Ames," I whimper. "You've been drinking."
"I'm not drunk."
"You're not sober, either."
The words sever through the moment. A machete, the cold metal of its blade cleaving the moment, because I can't take what she offers when I don't know if she means it.
I take a step back. She lets me go. Pain fills her face, but she masks it and aims for a brave front.
"No. Fuck." I put my hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you—"
My heart still mirrors that hummingbird, even if the rest of me has frosted over.
A small bird, meant to skip from bright flower to bright flower, trying to survive the frozen tundra.
She shakes her head, eyes closed. "No. Of course. You're right. We shouldn't. This is no way—"
"I won't do this. I can't. With alcohol involved, and knowing what I know— you deserve better than this."
"That's really the right way. I just… I wish I didn't…"
She puts the mostly-full glasses in the sink. It's an attempt to clean up. To appear normal.
"This is important," I say. "We should wait until we're both clear-headed to talk about this."
"Of course. Thank you. This is so sweet. You're right, I'm not clear-headed."
The look on her face tells me that no matter if she believes the words, she's feeling the rejection .
"Shit. Ames. I'm sorry. Let's talk tomorrow after training."
She takes a few steps back and out of the kitchen. "We're going to the club tomorrow night. I was meant to tell you and I forgot. I'm sorry!"
I follow her, but she creates more distance between us. I stay in place, while she places a hand on her door's handle.
"Anyway." Her tone is airy and overly cheery. "We'll talk about it. I promise. If not tomorrow, then on Tuesday. I'll make us breakfast and we'll… debrief."
I have a heart, but I can't feel it. It's disappeared somewhere. It's gone, down into the Earth's crust, finding its way through dirt and rock.
"I'm so fucking sorry." It hurts to talk. "It's what I have to do."
If my dating life is a track record that shows I'll never be Mister Right, accepting her seduction would make me wholly wrong. I could never take advantage of her.
The way my chest crumbles and my heart collapses under the pressure of its hiding place— those matter none at all.
"I get it." She nods a little too vehemently. "It's the right thing to do. I should be thankful. I am! We're good, I promise."
She goes into her room.
"Good night, Saint."
The door closes softly.
I'm nothing but a ghost working the machinery of my body, until I fall into a fitful sleep.