Chapter 27
Myssa
It’s been a few weeks since our decision to just be friends.
Things have been eerily quiet with Jasper.
I’ve been focusing on self-control and not letting my emotions get the best of me.
I think it’s helping because it’s become easier not to shift.
It also helps that either Zayne or Knox are in the building at all times.
Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m still on guard.
Call it intuition, but I can feel something coming.
This past week, I’ve barely seen Zayne. Frequency has been becoming a big hit in Chicago, and they’ve already booked their first band to perform, although everyone here has apparently been told not to tell me who.
I have tried to get it out of Vix, Knox and Zayne, but they’ve been tight-lipped. I couldn’t even bribe Eddie.
“You are Evil.” I pouted.
“That’s me,” Eddie said.
Knox had walked out of the door immediately, looking right at me. “Leave Eddie alone, woman, he’s not going to tell you.”
The alarm on my phone jolts me back to the present.
I know the last week has been hard on Zayne.
So, I decided to make dinner tonight for when he gets home.
Home. That’s what it feels like to be here, but I have to remind myself again that this is temporary.
I take a deep breath, trying to ease the knot in my stomach at the thought.
I don’t even want to think about how hard it’s going to be to go back to my apartment once this is all over.
Stopping the alarm, I grab the oven mitts and pull the lasagna I’d made out of the oven. The aroma wafting through the loft makes my stomach growl.
This morning, as we waited for coffee to brew Zayne had seemed withdrawn.
“You, ok?” I asked, getting out two mugs from the cabinet.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, Myssa, inspections are today.
” The stress of it prominent on his face.
“City inspections are brutal, so I’m just going over it all in my head and reassuring myself that all the boxes are checked.
” He grabed his mug from the counter and mindlessly tapped on it, waiting for the coffee.
I gently touch the back of his hand. The zap of electricity sent a current down my spine.
I took my hand away quickly and motioned to pour the coffee in his cup for him.
His throat bobbed as he held out his cup.
I schooled my features and looked at him.
“You got this,” I said in confidence.
“I hope so,” he said with a small smile.
If this concert goes to plan, this could open the door for future gigs. The list of things to do to make that happen is endless. Permits, ticket sales, security, traffic, parking, and marketing, to name a few.
Today was a go or no-go for the show, and I’ve been waiting all day to hear from him. The wait has been agonizing. As if on cue, I hear front door unlocking.
“I don’t know what that is, but I want seconds already.” A disheveled but very happy Zayne walks into the kitchen.
He kisses me on the top of the head, giving me a half-hug.
Not even realizing what I’m doing, I wrap my arm around his waist. Then it hits me, and I freeze for a second.
The gesture is so innocent, yet so intimate at the same time.
He, too, pauses for a moment, unsure how to move from where we’re at right now.
I clear my throat, trying to break the awkward silence after his familiar embrace as I take a step towards the cupboard.
“I made lasagna. Figured maybe it would be nice, since you were stressing so much this morning. I’m sure the inspection was brutal. How did it go?” I say as I pull out some plates and silverware.
Zayne wipes his hand down his face. “You’re right, it was grueling—some minor tweaks will need to be taken care of, but we passed, so we’re good to go.”
“That’s awesome, Zayne.” I want to reach out to him, jump in his arms, and kiss him. And it’s taking everything in me not to. Instead, I keep myself busy by shredding some parmesan. “I know this has been a lot of pressure.”
“Yeah, it has, but worth it.” He walks over to the fridge, grabbing a beer for himself and water for me. The routine between us is now so fluid, like this is what it has been between us forever.
“Table or living room?” he chimes at me.
“Living room,” I say, and he nods, putting our drinks on the coffee table in the living room.
“Give me ten minutes. The garlic bread is almost done,” I say, checking my timer.
“Perfect. I’m gonna take a shower and get comfortable.”
I start to plate our food, just as I hear his bedroom door.
I hear his footsteps on the stairs as I make my way to the living room with our plates.
I take my usual place on the floor across from him, while he sits down in sweats and a T-shirt.
His hair is still damp from the shower, and I drink him in.
Eye fucking him when he’s not paying attention has become my favorite torturous pastime.
Yep, that’s me. When you look up pathetic in the dictionary, you see a picture of me, and if you tilt the book side to side you can even see me wave.
Zayne digs in like a man starved, downing half of the piece in two bites. Closing his eyes, he moans in delight. Jesus. I swear he’s trying to kill me. Does he not realize how badly I wanna climb over the fucking table and devour him?
When he opens his eyes, he cocks his head as if he’s studying me. I blink the thoughts away and realize that I’m just sitting there, my fork in the air, a piece of lasagna hanging half off my plate that fell from said fork, with my mouth open.
Zayne smiles at me as I look down, cursing at myself for the mess I’ve made. I grab my paper towel to clean it up.
“What?” His beautiful smile is too adorable, and I feel my cheeks heat up.
“Just never seen a foodgasm live before,” I say, diverting my eyes from his.
“You make a meal like this again, and you better get used to it,” he says, as he takes a bite of garlic bread.
I laugh, shaking my head at him.
After dinner, we make our way back to the couch. Taking a seat near him, I watch the TV as he starts sifting through channels. When he stops the channel on “The Lost Boys”, I perk up, putting my hand on his.
He looks over at me, puzzled.
“Please tell me you like this movie,” I stress with an eager grin.
“Maggots, Micheal, you’re eating maggots.” He smiles.
I bounce a little in excitement and tuck my legs underneath me, getting comfortable.
Zayne
It’s so damn hard to sit next to her and keep my hands to myself.
I’m trying to concentrate on the movie, but every time she’s near me like this, I’m like a damn schoolboy on a first date.
Do I want to punch myself for putting a stupid fucking boundary in place, a line we can’t cross?
The answer would be yes, yes, the fuck I do.
For the last few weeks, we’ve sat here talking, laughing, and watching movies, but over time it gets harder and harder to keep that line in place.
I swear I can talk to her for hours and it only feels like minutes.
It could be about anything. Our communication flows so freely, and the other night, I almost confessed everything to her.
The black hole of guilt consumes me. But it wouldn’t be fair of me to do that to her.
She’s just getting comfortable about everything going on.
I don’t want to add to the list of problems.
Lost in my thoughts, I feel a soft weight on my shoulder. Looking down, I see Myssa, fast asleep, leaning on me. I stroke her hair out of her face and watch her breathing as her head becomes heavier the deeper in sleep she becomes.
God, she’s beautiful, and there’s not one thing I’d change about her.
Something has to give: I can’t do this much longer.
I need her. I need to worship her in all the ways I have dreamed about every night.
To fully be able to love her the way I was meant to.
I don’t want this moment to end, and I’ll take whatever small pieces I can steal.
I twist myself to lay her down on the couch, her head resting on a pillow while I slid in behind her. I take the throw blanket off the top of the couch and cover both of us. Maybe a toe over the line is ok I tell myself as I wrap my arm around her waist, closing my eyes as I let sleep take over.