11. Brittney #3
“I had you every night.” His voice roughens.
“Every single night for years. And I’d come home and eat dinner and answer emails and get into bed beside you like you were furniture.
Like you’d always be there. I didn’t touch you.
I didn’t ask you anything. I lay three feet away from the best thing in my life and I checked my phone. ”
“Don’t.”
“I have to say it.” His other hand comes up, cradling my face like I’m precious.
“Because now I sit in a car in the dark for the chance to see your light go off. And that’s what I deserve.
That’s exactly what I deserve.” His voice breaks.
“But I need you to know - I want it too. What you’re feeling right now. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
“Then why aren’t you kissing me?”
The question escapes before I can stop it.
His whole body shudders.
“Because when I kiss you-” He leans closer. His lips hover an inch from mine. I can feel his breath, taste his exhale, feel the tremble in his hands. “It won’t be because we’re caught up in a moment. It won’t be because we’re desperate and lonely and standing in the rain like idiots.”
“Then why?”
“Because I’ll have earned it.” His forehead touches mine. “Because you’ll trust me again. Because when I finally get to taste you, I want it to mean something. I want it to mean everything.”
I’m going to die. I’m going to die right here in this parking lot because my heart can’t take this.
“And when you do kiss me?” My voice is a whisper. “What then?”
“Then I’m not going to stop.” His hands tighten on my face. “I’m going to kiss you until neither of us can breathe. I’m going to take you somewhere - anywhere - and I’m going to spend hours relearning every inch of you. I’m going to make you come so many times you forget why you ever left.”
A sound escapes me. Involuntary. Desperate.
His eyes flash. His control wavers.
“Don’t.” His voice is strained. “Don’t make that sound. I’m barely holding on as it is.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to hold on.”
“Britt-”
“Maybe I want you to break.”
He groans. The sound comes from somewhere deep in his chest, raw and wrecked.
“You’re trying to kill me.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s working.”
We stand there. Rain streaming down. Foreheads pressed together. His hands on my face, my hands fisted in his soaked shirt, both of us breathing like we’ve sprinted miles.
“Soon,” he says.
“You keep saying that.”
“I keep meaning it.” He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are black with want. “Soon, Britt. I promise. But not like this. Not when you might regret it tomorrow.”
“What if I won’t regret it?”
“Then you’ll still want it tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.” He strokes his thumb across my lower lip. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here. Waiting. For as long as it takes.”
He steps back.
My whole body protests the loss of him. I rock toward the empty space before I catch myself.
“Go home, Brittney.” His voice is barely controlled. “Before I do something we’re both not ready for.”
I turn toward my car. My hands shake on the keys.
Headlights cut through the rain.
White Porsche. I’d know that car anywhere.
Mikayla gets out, umbrella in hand, heels clicking on the wet pavement. She’s perfectly dry, perfectly composed, perfectly put together in a way that makes me feel like a drowned rat by comparison.
“Shawn.” Her voice is sharp. “This is pathetic.”
He doesn’t move from where he’s standing. “You followed me here.”
“I happened to be-”
“Across town. At night. In the rain.” His voice is flat. “You followed me.”
She doesn’t deny it again.
“You have a company. A reputation. And you’re throwing it away for a woman who abandoned you.”
“She didn’t abandon me.” His voice is steady. “I drove her out and called it her leaving.”
Mikayla’s composure flickers. Her umbrella tilts, letting rain splatter against her shoulder, and she doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’ve been waiting so long.” The words come out rushed, uncontrolled, nothing like her usual careful performance. “All that positioning, all that patience, watching you waste yourself on someone who doesn’t understand what she has-”
She stops. Realizes what she’s said.
“Waiting for what, exactly?” Shawn’s voice goes cold.
Rain falls. Mikayla’s mask slips further.
“For my opening. Obviously.”
The words hang in the air between them.
“He’s not lost.” My voice cuts through, surprising even me. “He’s finally looking.”
Mikayla’s head snaps toward me. The hatred in her eyes is pure and undisguised - no more honey-sweet pretense, no more concerned friend act. Just the raw truth of who she is and what she wanted.
“You-”
“You should go.” I keep my voice level. “You’ve been waiting for a door that was never going to open. Time to find a different house.”
Her tires screech as she peels away.
Shawn turns to me, rain streaming down his face.
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Same time tomorrow.” I fish my keys out of my pocket. “Bring an umbrella.”
His laugh echoes through the rain.
I get in my car. He stands in the parking lot until my taillights disappear.
Something has shifted. I felt it happen - the moment I reached for him, the moment I defended him without deciding to first. Something cracked open that I’d been keeping sealed.
I’m not sure if that’s terrifying or wonderful.
Probably both.