Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
SUTTON
- Present Day -
O ne of the best parts about whatever this strange dynamic is between Jonah and myself, is that when we occasionally hook up, there is no awkward morning-after-walk-of-shame nonsense.
The thing with Callum last night however.
. . well, that’s another matter altogether.
As much as I hate that he left last night, there’s a part of me that’s thankful that I don’t have to go through that awkwardness with him.
For the moment, I don’t have to wonder if it was just a one-time thing, or if he will want something more.
I can let myself just be happy for once.
For just this one moment, before the reality that comes with the light of day, the disbelief that it really happened, sets in, I can just allow myself a quiet moment of bliss.
I know it’s morning, but I’m not ready to face the day yet.
Not ready to let go of the memories from last night.
From having one of my wildest fantasies actually come to life.
My brain is fuzzy as I try to wake up, but I can’t help the smile that crosses my face as I shift and feel a delicious soreness that reminds me of just how real last night was.
Very much so. Stretching languidly, I melt into the cool sheets they slip down my waist.
“Mmm.”
“Oh good, you’re up.”
Prying my bleary eyes open, I squint over at Jonah. Leaning casually against the door frame, even with my brain still groggy, it’s hard not to register just how good he looks without even trying. “It’s not fair that your bed is so much more comfortable than mine. We should switch.”
“I’ve told you before, Baby Girl. You’re welcome to share it with me any time.”
I sigh dramatically, bottom lip jutting in a pout. “But then I would have to share .”
“Oh? You mean like this coffee I’ve got right here? The one that I had intended to share with you?” He holds up a steaming cup as he rolls his eyes.
Neither one of us is talking about the bed, and we both know it.
Neither one of us has been willing to officially cross that line .
My heart squeezes, and I wonder for the millionth time if this is the right thing.
I know he’s the one who brought up the option of the occasional “no strings attached” hookup, to say nothing of the whole ‘fake girlfriend’ situation, but I‘m also not stupid. I’ve seen the looks that he tries to hide when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
Hell, he could probably say the same about me.
I mean, let’s face it. We both know there’s more to our friendship than either one of us is willing to admit right now.
It has never been the right time, though.
As much as it hurts to think about, now probably isn’t the right time either.
Last night’s . . .activities probably aren’t going to help matters, either.
“Coffee?” Jolting upright, I prop myself on one elbow as I eagerly reach for the cup of liquid heaven. “Gimme, gimme! Please. ”
Walking over to my side of the bed, he stands there, languidly looking me over, and the heat in his eyes is unmistakable as he holds the cup just out of reach.
I feel my skin flush under his intense scrutiny.
This isn’t our first “morning after.” Over the years of our friendship we have definitely walked a fine line balancing somewhere between “just friends” and “friends with benefits.” There’ve been moments where simply for the sake of convenience and comfort, it has been easy to turn to each other rather than dealing with the chaos of dating.
Especially for someone like Jonah, who finds himself under the spotlight of the media more than his fair share of the time.
That’s part of why I’ve had such a hard time just letting go and letting myself feel.
. . well, everything that I feel about him.
I want to believe it’s real, but it’s hard to know if the way he says he feels is simply because there is no other better option available.
I’ve seen some of the men and women he has dated (and I use that term loosely) in the past, and when I look at myself in the mirror, it’s easy to see that there is no real competition.
I may be a great pal, and decent enough in bed, but when it comes to my looks?
All the baggage that comes with me? Let’s just say I wouldn’t blame him for wanting to move on to something less.
. . complicated. . . if the right opportunity presented itself.
“Hey. Look at me, Farley.”
Arm over arm, I grab hold of the lifeline he is once again throwing my way and drag myself out of the murky bog of a landscape that makes up my intrusive thoughts.
Rather than just handing me the coffee, he sets it on the nightstand before sitting next to me on the edge of the bed.
“Where’d you go?” Reaching out, Jonah tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, softly caressing my cheek, and for just one moment, I let the vulnerability wash over me, closing my eyes as I lean into his caress.
Blowing out an unsteady breath, I flop back against the pillows, arm draped dramatically over my eyes. Yes, I know, the theatrics of it all . But some days, that is just where my head is at, and everything feels like it’s all just. . . too much.
“Sorry, my intrusive thoughts were getting to me.”
“Hey,” a hand that somehow always manages to be both firm and gentle with me pulls my arm away from my face. “Sutton.”
I pry one eye open to squint at him, grimacing as I brace myself for what I know he is going to say.
“Tell that bitch, Lyle to back the fuck off. Remember? Lyle is a lying cunt.” Lyle is the name we gave to my intrusive thoughts - the vicious voice inside my brain, the part riddled with insecurities and self-loathing.
. . my intrusive thoughts, as it were. Beyond all the years I have spent in therapy, I have found that this tool Jonah came up with helps more than anything to shut up the hateful inner dialogue that tries to take over my rational brain on occasion.
He waits for me to respond, but I sit, silent, trying to shove down the ever-rising anxiety that is climbing up my chest and into my throat.
Raising an eyebrow, he just gives me the look and patiently waits, knowing what I know – that ultimately, I will be following his directions like the good girl I am.
“Lyle is a lying cunt.” I mumble the words begrudgingly.
Tsking, he shakes his head, crossing his arms over his broad, muscular chest. “You think Lyle is going to listen to that weak-ass comment? One more time with feeling. Say it like the good little brat I know you are. Make me believe it.”
Popping my other eye open, I glare at him before defiantly responding, “Lyle is a lying cunt.” I put some force in my tone, and his smile of approval has the knot of tension in my stomach relaxing just the tiniest fraction.
“Good. That’s better. Now, want to tell me what that is all about?”
I hesitate, worrying my bottom lip.
“I can’t help talk you off that ledge if I don’t know what’s going through that pretty head of yours. ”
Reaching over, he grabs my wrists, his large hands easily encircling them as he gently squeezes – not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me that he’s there; he’s safe.
Again, my logical brain knows this, but sometimes it takes that physical reminder to help my mind reset.
I melt into his touch, and despite the fact that every part of my body is currently screaming out at the thought of opening my mouth and making myself vulnerable once again, I make a conscious effort to trust this; trust him.
Just like all the things I have opened up about in the past, all the little pieces of me that I have given him to keep safe, I know I can trust him with this piece of me too.
The words stick like glue in my throat as I open my mouth to speak.