49. Indy #4
“You lost the right to know anything about me six years ago.”
“I’m asking anyway.”
A short, harsh laugh escapes my lips. I just wanted a moment of fantasy. A few minutes of imagining life went differently for us. A second of illusion where this is our home, and everything turned out like it was supposed to.
“Blue,” he says.
“Don’t call me that.” I swallow hard before I meet his eyes.
“I can’t not call you Blue. You’ve always been Blue to me.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter as I push myself to my feet. “I’m not fucking Dylan.”
There’s a hint of relief in his gaze.
And a flash of anger underneath my skin.
I grab the shot he didn’t get to finish before and tip it back. I slam the glass down making a face at the bitter taste.
“Anymore,” I add.
He drops his head back and exhales before he pins me with another look.
“But you have.”
“Why does it matter?” I spread my arms. “What the fuck does it matter anymore what I have or haven’t done?”
“You’ve fucked other people besides me?” he asks roughly, and anger is flashing in his eyes too now, and he has no right. He has no fucking right!
“Yes.” I sound calmer than I have the whole night, even if every known emotion seems to currently be choking the air right out of my chest. “I have. Do you want a list?”
He’s up on his feet too, stalking toward me, vibrating with tension.
“Blue,” he rasps, and a rush of longing washes over me. I’ve heard him say my name like this before. The same rasp. The same kind of helpless desperation. His breath against my ear. His naked, sweaty body pressed against mine.
He’s so close now. Too close. I can smell tequila on his breath and rain on his skin. His chest presses against mine. His palm slides over the side of my neck, and his fingers sink into the hair at the back of my head.
His forehead falls against mine. I breathe him in greedily.
“I want to make you forget them,” he murmurs.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I squeeze my mouth shut.
No.
What a terrible idea.
No.
I even shake my head.
“Forget who?”
His lips flutter over my cheek as he leans into me.
“It’s you and me,” he says. “And the last six years never happened. The life we were supposed to have? We got it. You and me, Blue.”
The breath that escapes my lips is more like a sob.
“This is our home, and—”
“No,” I choke out. “Fuck no. Don’t.”
“Blue,” he whispers, fingers tightening in my hair.
“We’re going to pretend that none of it happened.
Just for tonight.” He’s speaking faster now.
“It’s us, and we have forever. And none of those other people?
They didn’t happen. They haven’t seen you like I have. They haven’t felt you like I have.”
I try to push him away. I fight to get away, but his hold on me only tightens.
“You’re mine, Blue. You’ve always been mine.”
I shake my head, unable to speak when every painful emotion from the last six years crashes over me.
The hurt. The intense loneliness. The feeling of having a vital part of me ripped away from me so suddenly that I still struggle to live without it.
The endless ache of missing him even when I hated him.
All those years of trying to rebuild myself around an absence.
Trying to convince myself I was fine.
Trying to turn into a person who doesn’t automatically look for Nick in crowded rooms or think of him whenever something good happens, reaching for my phone before remembering I can’t call him anymore.
“Don’t do this to me,” I grit out. Tears are flowing freely now. I can’t stop them.
“Blue,” he says again.
I cling to him, every breath heavy with loss and heartache and need.
He wraps himself around me, pulling me to him until we’re plastered together, chest to chest, breathing each other in.
His forehead rests against mine.
He’s so close. So, so close. Closer than he’s been in years. His mouth is inches from mine.
We watch each other, eyes roaming over eyes and lips, noses brushing.
He tilts his head the tiniest bit, and his upper lip brushes my bottom lip. It’s not a kiss.
Not yet.
His thumb sweeps over my clavicle and rests against the hollow of my throat. I let out a shaky breath.
His mouth comes down on mine.
His hand grips the side of my neck. His lips devour me. It’s desperate and needy and overwhelming. It’s pouring the last six years of craving and longing into one kiss.
My head is only full of him. Him, him, him.
His smell and his touch and his desire.
His tongue pushes past my lips, deepening the kiss, and the storm of desire it unleashes almost knocks me off my feet. I’m helpless in the face of it. I surrender without putting up a fight.
His hands grip my neck, and he presses me against the wall. His thigh slips between mine, pushing us even closer together. His tongue slides against mine, seductive and demanding in equal measure, and my hips start to rock against him.
He moans, and it vibrates through me.
It’s all so familiar, but also new. He tastes the same but different. His body feels like it used to, but at the same time, not at all.
My fingers clutch his waist, pulling him even closer, and then I let my hands roam, tracing every bit of skin I can reach, feeling the dips and lines of his body.
My cock jerks violently when he moans into my mouth. My head is woozy with desire as Nick’s hips thrust against mine. He tears his mouth away, but before I can protest he’s running his lips down the side of my neck.
He rests his forehead against the curve of my shoulder, eyes aimed lower. His hand covers my cock, gripping it through the soft material of the sweatpants. My head falls back against the wall with a loud thump.
Our panting breaths are all I can hear.
His fingers gripping my cock are all I can feel.
He strokes the thick, heavy length, and I slam my eyes shut at the rush of desire that rushes through me, erasing everything in its path.
“Mine, Blue,” he says hoarsely, voice all gravel.
And I want to nod.
I start to nod.
Only… I’m not.
I’m not his.
He’s not mine.
I’m a shitty enough person that I try to ignore that small voice.
Who cares? I’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow. Just let me have this tonight.
He’s not yours.
The voice is growing more insistent.
This is a mistake.
I know it, even if I haven’t fully admitted it to myself yet.
And just like, that reality crashes in.
My whole body tenses.
Nick stops kissing me. His mouth is still on mine, but he’s not moving anymore.
“You’re thinking,” he says, lips moving against mine.
I close my eyes and turn my head. His lips slide to my cheek. His forehead rests against my temple.
“I can’t do this,” I say.
“You’re supposed to forget.”
I slide away from his grasp and back away, shaking my head. “I can’t do this. We can’t do this.”
He turns around, leans against the wall, and rakes his fingers through his hair before he looks at me. “Why not?”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“That’s the point, Blue. To forget.”
“About your fucking boyfriend?”
He goes very still as he blinks at me. “My what?”
“Callum,” I prompt.
“What about Callum?”
“You’re cheating on him,” I grit through my teeth.
He just blinks at me for a long time, like he’s trying to understand and having a lot of trouble. “Wait. Do you… do you think I’m with Callum?”
“Aren’t you?” I snap.
“No?” he says.
That takes all the wind out of my sails. I lean against the wall opposite him and try to catch up.
“I work for him, Blue. And a couple of other guys on the team. I’m their private chef.”
“Oh.” I deflate even more.
Silence stretches between us.
“You didn’t want me to work for him. And that night after the club, you took me to his place, not yours.” Drawing conclusions based on that had come so easily.
“Because being near you is impossible!” he blurts.
He looks at me, then away. He sighs and drags his hands through his hair.
“I don’t know what we are. It’s like we only move in extremes.
We either loathe each other or can’t keep our hands off each other.
Nothing in between. And neither of those options really works anymore.
I don’t know how to be around you. And I miss you. ”
All the air whooshes out of my lungs. Whatever I expected him to say, this isn’t it. Hope crashes into me full force.
I miss you too.
I miss your face.
I miss your laugh.
I miss you. All of you.
I press my lips together and look away.
“It’s not exactly an easy reunion,” I say.
“I’m still so angry about everything.” He says that almost gently.
It doesn’t come as a shock. It doesn’t even hurt that much. He’s just putting into words something I already knew, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself.
“I don’t want to be,” he continues.
I stare at him. “You don’t?”
He chuckles softly and drags his hand through his hair as he shakes his head. “I’d like to think I’ve matured some in six years. At least a little bit.”
I eye him carefully with only one question bouncing around in my head.
So where does this leave us?
He pushes himself off the wall, eyes still on me, taking me in, drinking me down, eating me alive.
“Friends,” he says.
That’s… an idea.
I don’t know why I feel disappointed. At this point it’s the best we can hope for. A polite coexistence.
I swallow hard.
“Friends,” I say.