Chapter 3 #2
“Zach—” I whisper, not knowing what else to say. He believes with every fiber of his being that I'm his person, but would he really want someone so hollow forever? Does he only want to be with me because of the memories we had?
He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t loosen his hand on my waist. He just waits for me to answer, patiently watching. He’s always so damn patient with me.
My airways go tight. My chest follows, and suddenly I remember exactly why I left. Why I needed space in the first place. Why being with him now feels like holding my breath before impact.
This is how I lose myself.
I clear my throat, forcing my gaze past him, searching for something, anything, to change the subject.
“Don’t Jamie and Tiff look great together?” I say, a little too quickly. “Can’t believe they actually got married.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, and I can hear the defeat in his voice. “Can’t believe they got married before us,” he says casually.
My heart skips a beat. Every proposal from him runs through my mind, ending with his final plea.
“Zach, don’t joke about that.”
“When was I ever joking?” His hands tighten around my waist, and he pulls me closer so he can lean in and whisper in my ear. “I don’t joke about you, Honeycomb. I wanted you then. I want you now. The only future I see is with you. Only you.”
My throat tightens because what the hell am I supposed to say to that?
It’s easy for him to be so sure. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted except me, but what happens if he gets bored? If he dumps me, then I’m back to where I started. With nothing.
“You know we can’t be together right now,” I say quietly, determined to focus on healing myself.
“Yeah, you keep saying that, but there’s no real reason anymore. I’m out of college. The girls are onto the next big thing. No one is going to bother you anymore. I’ve got the resources to ensure it.”
I melt a little. He makes it sound so easy, but it isn’t. “Your life hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s bigger now. You’re everywhere. I see you on every phone commercial, every billboard I pass. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I traded who I am for who you are.”
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re acting like I’d swallow you whole, when really you’re just scared of choosing anything at all.”
“What are you—”
“Do you think I don’t know where you’ve been this whole time, Honey?
” His voice drops. “You haven’t been out finding yourself.
You’ve been living with our best friends, trying not to cry yourself to sleep every night.
You’re only leaving the house to go to therapy, and honestly, I’m proud of you.
You deserve to figure that stuff out after all the shit you’ve been through.
It’s just... I don’t want you to mistake that for living.
You deserve more than a life that feels so small. ”
His words hurt because he’s right.
Maybe I have been hiding. Maybe I have been small and safe, but that’s mine. It’s my process, my mess, and I work on my timeline.
“You deserve everything.”
He doesn’t get to comment on it like he’s still part of it when he’s off living this fantastical new life. One where his parents always supported him, and people always smiled when he entered a room.
“Why do you care about what I’m doing? We aren’t together anymore,” I say, the emotion coming out of me before I can think better of it.
“Stab me in the heart, why don’t you.” His chuckle is dark. “And if we aren’t together, what do you call that last goodbye?”
Of course he'd bring up the kiss.
“It was a mistake.” The words are harsh, and my chest tightens at the lie.
He pauses for a second. I feel him assessing me, but I don’t meet his gaze. “Does saying that make it easier to sleep at night?”
My breath stutters. “Zach—”
“You’d rather choke on it than say you miss me, wouldn't you?” he continues, his voice harsher now. “God, Honey... you’d rather run away and stay numb than risk feeling anything with me again.”
I flinch. He sees it and goes still.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Zach asks, dipping his chin to try to catch my gaze.
I turn away.
“I didn’t—”
“But you didn’t deny it, either,” he cuts in. His hand on my waist shifts. “You want to pretend we’re done? Fine. Talk like you’re done with me. Look at me like you’re done with me.”
I can’t.
The silence stretches between us as we awkwardly sway.
His thumb presses lightly into my hip.
“Look at me, Honeycomb,” he says, quieter now.
I can’t.
I don't answer. Instead, I stare down at his impeccable shoes. I can hear the whispers. People are talking about us, and my anxiety kicks in.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought.”
Before I can react, he’s guiding me off the dance floor, away from the rest of the guests.
“Zach,” I whisper, but he doesn’t slow. His jaw is set as he walks me off the dance floor, toward a hallway. When we’re there, we pass the kitchen, full of staff cleaning up, and a couple of storage rooms.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, my breath catching as I do my best not to trip over my shoes.
He doesn’t even look back. “Somewhere private, where no one’s watching, so I can remind you exactly what it cost us when you walked away from me.”
My heart pounds in my chest, but I don't try to stop him.
When we reach the bathroom, he pushes the door open with one hand and pulls me inside with the other. The lock clicks, and I step back until I'm braced against the vanity with nowhere to go.
Zach follows, placing a hand on either side of my hips, caging me in. He leans in, his eyes mapping my face.
I watch him, my body on high alert.
“Zach. What are you doing?”
“Just missed looking at you,” he says softly.
“See anything new?” I ask dryly, looking down at the void between us.
“Nope. You still look like home.”
I scoff. “You can't keep saying things like that, Z.” I lift my hand and press my palm against his chest to put some space between us, but the push is halfhearted at best. He brings his hand to rest on top of mine.
“See, you keep telling me what I can and can't do,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against my wrist, “but the truth is, you’ve never really tried to stop me.”
I haven’t, but isn’t that my biggest flaw? That I’ll happily take the easiest way out instead of putting in the work?
“I won’t stop you from leaving, Honeycomb. I never have.” His hand squeezes mine before it falls away, and he takes a step back, waiting for me to move. Daring me to.
My heels scuff against the floor, teasing the possibility, but I don’t move.
I want to—I think—but there’s something stopping me this time.
I raise my chin, and as our eyes connect, a slow grin pulls across his face.
“Told you,” he says.
“Told me what?”
“That you’re nowhere near done with me.” He steps back into my space, his hand cupping my jaw before it slides back into my hair. “No matter how much you try to pretend. You’re still mine.”
Then he’s on me.
His mouth claims mine in a single, bruising kiss. It’s raw, starving, and I feel every suppressed emotion he’s been carrying since the last time I walked away. I clutch the edge of the vanity, trying not to touch him. If I do, I don’t know where this is going to end.
His fingers press into my hips, and he yanks me flush against him until I can feel his thick cock pressing against my thigh through his suit pants.
I moan. The only semblance of sanity left is currently pressing against the marble countertop. The second my fingers move, I know I’ve lost.
He wedges his thigh between mine, forcing my legs apart, getting us as close as possible with our clothes on. Thankfully, my dress has a long slit up the side, otherwise it would’ve split open.
I gasp; he swallows it down with his lips. Taking all of it as though he’s been starved for me.
“Tell me to stop,” he growls against my lips, only breaking the kiss to drag his mouth down my jaw. His tongue pokes out when he meets my throat, and he traces a line down to my collarbone. I draw my head back, granting him more access.
My hands are still planted, though.
“Say it and I’ll stop,” he whispers right before his teeth scrape over my pounding pulse at the top of my collarbone.
Why? Why does he have to feel so right?
My chest is heaving, my back is arching, and my eyes are closed.
I need to stop him. We’re at his cousin’s wedding, for crying out loud. I can’t be known as the bridesmaid who hooked up with a groomsman, but feeling him devour me like this is almost worth the dignity I’ll lose walking out of here.
His lips travel to the middle of my chest until they reach the edge of my dress.
He looks up.
This is the moment. This is when I need to push him away from me and tell him that’s it.
When I raise my chest toward him, he takes that as his cue.
His lips come back to my skin, his tongue teasing the edges of the dress, licking just under it. All the while his hand is sliding up my thigh, under the slit of my dress slowly. He’s giving me every possible second to change my mind and walk away.
I won’t. We both know it.
As his calloused hands skate across my thigh, my hips buck toward his fingers, unashamedly chasing the high as my breath catches.
So much for my dignity.
Zach’s staring down between us, his fingers idly toying with the edges of my G-string. My chest is heaving, my clit is aching, but Zach just stands there, waiting for me to ask for it. To prove that I still want him.
Can’t he see my thighs are already shaking? That I’m one finger stroke away from breaking?
“Please—” It comes out as barely a whisper, but I know he hears it because his fingers are under the lace instantly.
I take in a sharp breath when his fingers enter me.
He leans in and whispers against my ear, “Fuck, Honeycomb.” His thumb circles my clit. “You’ve been waiting all night for this, haven’t you?”
I whimper and nod as my hips rock into his hand. There's no point in hiding the fact that I've missed this.