Chapter 22 #3
I finally sink down on him, and his relieved sound ramps on my own sensation. I like this position, too, and I grind on him, chasing the sparks of pleasure.
Up, over, and then I burst. I cry out, convulsing around him and chanting his name.
He surprises me by flipping us over.
“My turn,” he says, and I don’t challenge him. He doesn’t look like he can wait any longer.
He’s intent, focused, and he pounds into me until he cries out as well, his face twisted in bliss. I watch him come undone with no small amount of fascination.
I hook my legs around his waist, keeping him in place. He lifts his head to find my gaze.
“Thanks for not denying me that.” He trails soft kisses down the side of my neck.
I giggle. “I could tell that you were at your limit.” I keep my hand on his waist when he slides out of me.
We’re silent for a few moments. The ding of a notification on one of our phones sounds from the living room. My bedroom smells like sex, a musky scent that’s weirdly hot, like a reminder of this animal, feral thing we just did.
“I’m going to shower, then we can talk,” I say. “You want to join me?”
“I’ll have to put the same clothes on. But sure, that sounds nice.”
He pads after me to my bathroom. We’re both still naked, and I grab a couple towels, plus one to wipe myself off with.
He smirks. “That, uh, kinda does something to me,” he says.
“What’s that?”
He nods at my thighs. “Knowing that you have to, like, clean yourself up.” His face reddens.
“You like it dripping down my thighs? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
He laughs. “Well, when you put it that way. Yeah. It’s like . . . it makes me feel like a troglodyte. Like you’re mine in some way, even though intellectually I know that’s not a very evolved thing to feel.”
I shrug as I turn the shower on. His eyes scan me, like he’s still enjoying the view, like he could go again. “It’s okay. I know you aren’t some caveman.” I smile. “You’re an ortho doc, though. Is there a difference?”
“Ha. Haven’t heard that one before.”
He follows me into the shower. We stand under the spray, and I gesture for him to turn around. I pour some shampoo into my palm so I can soap up his hair.
“Is this okay?” I massage my fingers into his scalp.
“God, yes.” He dips his head.
With the warm water trailing down my back and the way Grant melts under my touch, in this intimate cocoon together, my reservations seem silly. I want him. I care about him. I’m sinking further into my feelings for him, and this steam is addling my brain, making me even foggier.
“I think hot water might be the best human achievement,” I say.
He turns his head to grin at me. Soapy lather snakes down his cheeks, and he closes one eye.
“I’m sure I’m supposed to say that the greatest invention is antibiotics or something like that, since I’m physician.
” He trades places with me so he can rinse his hair out. “But I think you might be right.”
“That’s an interesting discussion. There are lots of directions you could go with that.”
Grant takes the shampoo bottle from me. “Can I return the favor?”
I nod. He squeezes shampoo into his hand and starts to lather up my own hair. The pressure from his fingers and the hot mist is so relaxing I could melt into a puddle. I must make a noise, because Grant steps into me, and his movements become more vigorous.
“I think you gotta go with the wheel, right?” His breath skims my ear.
“Are we back on inventions again?”
“I feel like there should be a right answer,” he says.
I shrug. “There are too many candidates for that, depending on how far back you go. Writing. Electricity. Birth control. Toilet paper. Beer. The internet.”
He laughs. “That last one’s debatable.”
I step back so I can rinse off, and we trade places again. There’s a bit of awkward shuffling.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Grant says.
“He has even more jokes.” I pull my favorite body wash from the shower caddy. “I always wondered where you’d buried your sense of humor. By the way, this stuff is pricey. I might have to let you use the cheap stuff.”
Grant swipes the bottle from me. “I have delicate skin, thanks.” He soaps up a loofah for me and motions for me to spin around so he can wash my back.
“Do you?” The first brush of the loofah against my skin brings an actual moan to my lips.
“I use the cheapest bar of soap I can find, actually. I’m not fussy.”
I hum a little as he works, a few bars of an Adele song.
He stops. “You want to sing a little louder for me?”
My sigh pulls a laugh from him.
“Please?”
So I really belt it, letting my voice ring out around us, like I might if I were alone.
He sighs. “Your voice is incredible. You could be famous.”
“I wish.” I sigh when he pushes into the muscles around my shoulder blade with his free hand. “Don’t get used to it, though. I told you I don’t like serenading people.”
“I don’t get it, though,” he says. “You’re not shy. If I had a voice like yours, I would never stop singing. I would order that way at restaurants. Sing at the top of my lungs in the grocery store.”
“You think that.” I laugh. “It’s awkward. This lady I used to work with had a decent voice, and she used to sing on the labor and delivery unit all the time. To the babies, to the moms. The secondhand embarrassment was crushing.”
He chuckles. We finish washing then I hand him one of my big, fluffy towels for drying. I wrap my hair in another.
“I think women have the right idea with their fancy bath products,” he says. “This towel makes me feel like I’m floating on a cloud.”
“Right? Totally worth it.”
He trails after me into the bedroom. His gaze burns into me as we get dressed, me in my pajamas and him into the clothes he was already wearing.
“Sorry I don’t have anything else for you to wear,” I say. I recline on my bed, and he settles next to me.
“That’s okay.” He turns to me. “Kendall.”
“Yeah?” My heart pounds.
“Can we talk now?”
I nod. My fingers grip the comforter under me.
“You disappeared,” he says softly. “This week. I feel like you were avoiding me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m terrible at this kind of stuff actually. I know I’m outgoing, but I have a hard time talking about, you know.”
“Feelings?”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
“I’ll go first, then.” Grant turns my head toward him, so he can look me in the eye. I squirm. “I want you to know exactly where I stand here.” He inhales. “I’m falling in love with you.”
That word, love, drops into my chest like a rock. My body grows heavy. I know, deep down, that I’ve sailed past infatuation into something more serious. I can’t get the words out, though.
“Grant,” I say instead. My voice cracks.
“I know. I shouldn’t say that. But I think about you constantly.
I want you all the time, to the point I’m distracted from everything else.
I love everything about you—your brain, your sense of humor.
How good you are at so many things. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
” His voice lowers. “I’ll never want another woman like this. ”
My breath stalls. My God, I’ve never had anyone talk about me this way. It’s like he has a direct line to the most jagged parts of me and he’s soothing them with the sweetest things I’ve ever heard.
“Grant.” My eyes water. “I don’t know if this can work. No matter what we feel.”
“But why can’t it? If we both want it to, I mean?”
“What about the stuff at work? With Dr. Gambill?”
His face darkens, but he waves that off. “You already got into med school. And if it comes up, I’ll tell them I called without your permission. I can take the heat.”
That makes me feel slightly better, but not a lot.
“Your parents hate it,” I say. “And I don’t have the energy to perform for them, honestly.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “We don’t have to see them. Honest to God, I won’t let them around you unless they show they can change dramatically.”
I groan. “I’m not making you cut off your parents.
” I stare at the ceiling, willing myself not to cry.
“Besides that, if I do get into med school, there’s no guarantee you’ll find a job here.
I’ll have to do my residency somewhere else, probably, because we aren’t all lucky enough to get one in our home state.
I’m sure I’ll be stressed and studying all the time, trying not to freak out about the loans I’ll be paying back later. ”
“I’ll help you pay for it,” Grant says. “I don’t have enough saved for the whole thing, but I can help.” He grasps my hand in his. “I will give you all my fucking money.”
“I can’t take that from you, either,” I say. “And I’m used to doing things myself. I can do this too.”
“But I want to be that person for you.” Grant’s voice takes on some urgency. “I want to be the one who helps you. So you don’t have to take on all of it on your own.”
Tears stream down my cheeks now, and those give way to sniffling, and then great, heaving sobs while Grant watches.
I bend forward and curl over my feet. I cry so hard I worry I’m going to be sick, all while he strokes the back of my hand, watching me with concern and so much compassion I want to turn away from it.
I haven’t cried like this in years. I’m not sure I’ve ever cried like this, even as a child.
Years of hurt come crashing down on me. Not just Grant’s treatment of me, or anyone else’s, but the ways I’ve had to endure so much in order to live a normal life.
I’ve been flippant about it with my friends, but I’m so exhausted my bones hurt.
It’s all too much. My upbringing, the way poverty leaves a mark on one’s very DNA.
Being bullied. Blaine’s accident. The health problems I pretend are no big deal.
My dad. The way I still fight to prove myself.
Grant snakes his arms around my shoulders and squeezes me. I sink into him, probably slobbering on his shoulder with my ugly, racking sobs.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. My throat stings from the crying. “I don’t . . .” Then I sob again, an awful wail I’ll be embarrassed about later.
“It’s okay, Kendall. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
That makes me cry harder, in more gulping sobs. I’ve never done something like this in front of someone else. It’s like someone pulled a pin and now I’m detonating.
After a few minutes, my gasping settles into sniffles at random intervals. I sit up and wipe my eyes. I’m wrung out, and my clarity is no better than it was.
“Well,” I say, “now you’ve finally seen me break down.” I sniffle again. “Don’t tell anyone I have feelings.”
He laughs a little, but it’s a sad chuckle, like his heart isn’t really in it. He pets my hair. “You’re breaking my heart here, babe.” He offers me a subdued smile. “On the other hand, if you’d done this in high school, I might not have bothered you ever again.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works. It probably would have gotten even worse. Showing weakness and all that.”
He makes a noise, a plaintive whimper like a pained animal. “I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you. I’ll spend years trying if you’ll let me.”
“Grant.” He stiffens next to me. “I’m so into you. I really, really am. You’re brilliant and sexy and kind. I like spending time with you. I know you would treat me well.”
He pulls his arm from my shoulders to look at me. “This feels like a prelude to letting me down.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks again. “If we were different people, I would give it a chance. But there’s too much baggage. And I can’t spend my life feeling less-than, especially around your family. I think it’s better if we do this now.”
Grant hangs his head. My heart pinches, and I rub my chest.
He lifts his head. “Is there anything I can say? Or do?”
The pinch becomes a thread of agony wrapping around me, squeezing my chest. I can’t get to the bottom of my breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “It’s been . . . fun.”
“Goddammit.” Grant folds his arms over his chest, features hardening, and I flinch. “Don’t give me that. Now you’re diminishing it.”
I throw my hands up. “Fine. I doubt I’ll ever have a connection like this again. Is that what you want to hear?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “No. That’s worse.”
“Maybe we’ll feel differently in a few months,” I say.
“That this was just lust, infatuation. A house of cards.” I can’t bring myself to talk about his admission, his use of the word “love.” I won’t allow myself to consider that I could feel the same way.
I know I’ve left him hanging, that the word is now out there, untethered from his control like a lost kite.
I wish I could give him what he wants—something I never thought I would say—but I can’t.
He stretches his legs out in front of him and props himself on one elbow. He looks like a male model for a moment, posing on my bed in his sweatshirt, and I want to touch him again. I squeeze my hands into fists.
“No, Kendall,” he says. “That’s not what’s this is.”
We stare at each other. I’m sure my eyes are red-rimmed, but I don’t care. He’s now seen me at my absolute worst.
“I’m glad I won’t hate you forever now,” I say. “This was healing for me.”
He drops his head down, burying it in his forearm, and when he picks it up again, there’s resignation written on his face.
“You’re scared,” he says, “and it’s hurting both of us.”
“You think I don’t know that?” My fists clench. “But in case you were wondering, you did this. It was years ago, but you set it in motion. So I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Fine. I’ve done all I can.” He kisses my forehead, then shoves himself up to sitting. He’s at the edge of my bed for a moment before he stands and stretches.
“All right. Well, good luck with med school.” His voice is high and thin.
“Thanks.” I don’t move.
With one last glance back at me, he steps out of my bedroom. I hear his heavy footsteps through the living room, and the door shuts behind him.
I cry some more that night. I cry until I’m exhausted from it, until sleep claims me.