Chapter 21 #2
“No,” I say. “We’re just gonna talk out here.”
He nods. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
Then he steps back to his post,
scanning the street, anticipating threats.
Andrew and I walk off to the side of the awning. Behind a row of hedges and a half-dead topiary, there’s a courtyard no one uses.
A slab of old stone and climbing-ivy,
wrought iron benches tucked into corners.
Andrew’s shadow stretches long behind him, then is thrown against the stone building when he leans a shoulder against it.
I stand in front of him,
far enough we’re not touching,
close enough for him to reach me.
A horn blows in the distance.
And then another.
A cigarette burns a block over.
I fall back on my heel,
glance down at my boots,
suck in a breath.
“You got that look,” he says,
staring down at me,
sole against the stone wall, one knee bent.
“Whatever it is, you can say it to me.”
The wind sneaks through the courtyard,
kissing my exposed neck.
My hair sticks to my lipstick.
I peel it away, exhale,
and finally meet his gaze.
“I’m not stupid. Guy was pissed I told him to fuck off when I first walked in.” I turn to the wind to move the hair from my face. “I don’t know what kind of pissing match you two are in, but I know you. And you’re not stupid enough to hook up where you work.
“Not with all you got goin’ on.”
I peel my hair from my mouth again.
“And if I’m wrong?” I lean in.
“I don’t wanna fuckin’ hear about it, alright?”
I shrug, but it burns.
This whole situation burns.
And it burns me that it burns at all.
“I’m not mad if you were with someone last week. Or if Friday Night Fuck Tradition’s a real thing. It’s not my place to be mad. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
But not with your hands.
Not with your mouth.
Not with your cock.
Not with your—
I swallow the thoughts back,
looking anywhere but at him.
“What got to me was that I was forced to imagine it.” My throat goes dry. “Some girl gettin’ used up, like she’s nothin’ but a hole, and my brain puttin’ your face on it. Picturin’ you deep inside some girl. Hands on her. Mouth on her. Fuckin’ her.”
I shake my head. “It all makes me sick.
“I don’t wanna see it.
“I don’t wanna think about it."
My gaze breaks away from him before my eyes start confessing things my mouth won’t.
Andrew throws his hand out between us.
“Hey—look at me."
I do, and his brows lift.
"I got you. And for the record?
“I feel the same fuckin’ way.”
His jaw clenches, his eyes never leaving me.
“But cut that shit right there. That ain’t me.
“You think I’d risk this, huh?"
He moves closer, voice dropping.
"The way you touch me?
“The way you fuckin’ look at me?
“For what—
“some quick, backroom pussy? C’mon.”
A lopsided smirk flirts across his pretty mouth.
“Nah. You got under my skin, Sonny.
“You live in my fuckin’ head. Haven’t even—”
He stops short,
hands flying to his pockets.
Then—
“Goddammit. Left my fuckin’ glasses.”
He closes his eyes and exhales.
“Sat ‘em down like a dumbass, didn’t think.”
He drags a hand down his face
and pinches his eyes.
“We can go back,” I offer.
He shakes his head, dropping his hand.
“I have spares at home.
“I’ll grab ‘em tomorrow night.”
His chest caves as his eyes fall into mine again.
Then he chuckles under his breath,
shaking his head as it dies away.
“You consume me, Sonny,” he says,
as if honesty’s the last card he’s got left to play.
“You take over me so fuckin’ hard,
“I ain’t me no more—I’m us.”
His head drops against the stone,
all the fight drained out of him.
“So don’t do that. Don’t act like it wouldn’t rip you up if I kept fuckin’ around. You cared. I felt it hit you when he said that shit.”
His stare pins me to the sidewalk and strips the moment bare.
“Just say you’re scared.
“I can work with scared.
“But I’m not doin’ this fake ‘I don’t care’ shit.
“That ain’t us.
“So if you’re scared, just fuckin’ say it.”
Then the wind blows through.
He stands there, breath held,
pulse drumming its fingers in his neck,
all of him waiting for me,
daring me to admit it.
Fine.
“I’m scared,” I snap. “Okay?”
He doesn’t breathe right away.
In fact, his brows raise, surprised the words actually came out of my mouth.
Then his held breath pours out of him. And all the armor he forgot he was wearing drops in his eyes. “Okay,” he says softly. “Tell me what part of this scares you.”
Street’s gone dead.
The city turned its back to give us privacy.
No more sirens or car horns.
Only concrete and courtyard confessions.
I take a deep breath, then hold it.
Count from three.
Two.
One.
“I said it once, but you were too busy feelin’ sorry for yourself to listen.”
It fucked me up the first time.
If I open this door again? Full collapse.
I step closer, locking eyes with him.
“You. Walked. Out. On. Me.”
My words slice straight through him,
and his whole body goes still.
“Didn’t even let me explain. Just walked out.
“I wasn’t worth five more fuckin’ seconds.”
He exhales,
eyes dropping to the ground.
My throat closes up, but I push through it.
“Night at Type? You dropped that blonde in the middle of Manhattan like she was a half-finished drink,” I spit.
“Then you did that same shit to me. First date. Five a.m. Left me in a hotel lobby like a bad decision. Real classy.” I shake my head, digging my nails into skin.
“Like I was nothin’—what was the term, huh? ”
I hold my palm up at him.
“A fuckin’ reoccurring problem.”
I laugh, cutting my own throat with it.
It sounds like it hurts when it comes out.
Because it does.
“You’ve been on me since day one about runnin’, but the only one who bolted was you,” I say, and his mouth parts, about to say something, but only air comes out. “I may be fucked up, Drew, but at least I had the decency to give you a heads up before I walked.”
And another orgasm—
Oh, that’s good. I’m saying it.
“You left me empty. I left you coming.
“Let’s not pretend we’re the same.”
He runs a hand down his face, like—
fuck she’s right.
His other hand’s flexing,
desperate to fix it, to hold me.
But the only thing holding me now is the wind, ripping through again.
My hair slaps my mouth.
I rip it back,
angry at the breeze for touching me.
“I stood on that rooftop and told you shit I’ve never said out loud. Didn’t even know I had the words, and less than an hour later?”
My voice splinters. “You were gone.”
My fingers twitch to grab my own throat and shut me the fuck up.
But I keep going, keep pushing—
“I don’t chase.
“I’ve never chased anyone or anything.
“Not money. Not fame. Not people.
“I don’t even chase orgasms,
“and I’m clinically obsessed with those.”
His chest is rising and falling faster now.
My heart’s not beating, it’s banging.
“But I chased you.”
The laugh slips out bitter.
“And with a rap, no less—
“just handing over another piece of me.
“After you already left. Like a fuckin' idiot.”
His face falls, feeling the hit.
But his eyes don’t leave me.
My voice shakes. My hand shakes.
My body shakes.
I admitted I’m scared,
and now my body’s screaming: handle it.
“I never let anyone back in once they walked out. That’s where the story ends. You already turned your back, Drew. And now you want me to trust you?”
I lean back, cocking a brow.
“And this isn’t me holding some grudge over your head.
This isn’t me holdin’ on to shit I should’ve let go.
Not somethin’ I’ll bring up again and again.
” I slap my palm with the back of my other hand, so hard it stings.
“This is me standin’ here, sayin’ you managed to shove me face-first into my biggest fuckin’ fear on night one. ”
My eyes are going wet. His are too.
His have no right to be wet.
“That’s it, alright?
“That’s what I’m so fuckin’ afraid of.
“It’s bein’ left. Again.”
I huff out a laugh.
“And you did,
“and it felt like you slit my fuckin’ throat.”
Brandon didn’t say goodbye.
Andrew didn’t say goodbye.
And I’m stupid. So fuckin’ stupid.
“That’s why I don’t let anyone in deep enough to hurt, but I let you in like a goddamn fool. Proved me right. And you expect me to keep makin’ that same mistake? To throw it all away and trust you?
“The only shit that ever kept me safe.
“Toss it to the wind. Just like that.
“For a guy who proved he could walk
“the second things got hard?”
His face cracks,
and I hate how my breath skips seeing it.
I hate how he had the power to hurt me,
and how I can’t stand to see him hurt either.
“So, yeah—I’m fuckin’ scared,” I admit again, and Little Death drops down inside me with the confession, hot and fierce, screaming to be taken care of again.
I glance away,
ashamed of myself for saying it out loud,
and my thighs clench harder.
“I’m scared to throw it all away for you.
“Scared I’ll fuck it up.
“Scared you’ll leave.
“And then it’ll just be me.
“No Baby Contract. No Ben.
“Only me and the addiction.
“And I will fucking drown.”
The words hang in the air—
hot, ragged, irretractable.
He closes his eyes, maybe to shut it all out.
But when he opens them again,
every part of him is still right here,
burning in it with me.
I can’t stand still.
I’m pushing my hair back, fidgeting, shifting.
My body’s searching for a lamppost to grind against.
“Forget it,” I breathe,
“Said what I needed to say.”
I take one step back.
Then another.
There’s a heartbeat throbbing hot between my thighs, begging for a fix.
“I can’t be here right now.”
My feet move
before my mouth can backpedal.
If I stay another second, I’ll burst into flames.
I need to take cover to come.
But Andrew’s hand catches mine fast,
and his is shaking.
“Nah. Fuck that,” he says, pulling me back
hard enough to make me turn.
“Don’t walk away from me after that.
“You don’t get to make us bleed then take off,
“leavin’ me standin’ here in it.”
I shake my head. He doesn’t get it.
“I need space. I need out.
“I need to fuckin’ disappear for a minute.”
He’s nodding, absorbing it all, taking it.