Chapter 11
It was possible I may have breathed out his name, for all the world like a sheltered wallflower encountering the handsome duke as he rose from a pond with his white shirt plastered to his abs.
I was almost too surprised by the sight of him to make a mental note about pushing Dash into the Turtle Pond at Central Park—you know, for science.
“I saw your text,” he said, fiddling with his phone. “I figured we should probably talk in person.”
I won’t lie. My stomach sank at the seriousness in his tone. At least Dash had the courtesy to break things off in person, unlike pretty much everyone I’d ever dated.
“You don’t mind coming upstairs, do you?” I asked him, squaring my shoulders. If there was one thing I didn’t aspire to, it was to be a New York City cliché and have a big, dramatic blowup on the sidewalk.
“Sure.” Dash held out my tote. “I figured you probably had something important in here.”
I reached for it, plunging my hand inside and taking out my key chain, which was shaped like a slice of cake festooned with icing and cherries. “These were in there so yeah, thanks,” I said as I let us inside.
My heart was thumping a little faster and harder than the stairs merited when I closed the door to my apartment behind Dash.
This was the first time he’d come over to my place, and I couldn’t help but take in the studio through fresh eyes—the jumble of paperbacks on the nightstand, the creamsicle-colored duvet, half-buried in clean laundry and shoved to one corner of the unmade bed, the messy tray of earrings on top of the two-burner range, the collection of bras dangling from the standing lamp and every single doorknob…
His apartment was warm and comfortable; mine was chaos personified. But then again, so was I. I was Too Much (TM). And even with no one going out of their way to make me feel bad about it, I knew it didn’t exactly make me the easiest person to be around.
Not that it mattered anymore, at least where Dash was concerned.
“So,” I began, trying not to give in to the urge to cross my arms. That was about as far as I got.
In case it wasn’t obvious from the way I’d avoided telling my family the truth about losing my job, I’ve never really been that good at difficult conversations.
With Dash standing in front of me, his forehead all scrunched up and the corners of his mouth turned slightly down, I had no idea how I was going to get the words out.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Dash spoke up first. “I hope it’s okay that I came. You seemed pretty upset when you left, and I wanted to make sure that you had gotten home okay. And return your bag and stuff, of course.”
I gave him a weird, anxious little nod. “I’m fine.”
“And I also wanted to apologize—”
My mouth dropped open. “Apologize? You?”
He looked down. “I’ve been flirting with you pretty aggressively. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d thought it was making you uncomfortable, but I realize now that I shouldn’t have done it at all, not when we’re trying to work together.”
“You think I ran away because I didn’t want you to kiss me? For fuck’s sake, Dash, I’ve wanted nothing else from the moment we met. I’ve been flirting back just as hard, you know.”
Dash ran his fingers through his hair. “Then what happened?” His lips quirked up into a smile, but I could see the uncertainty lurking in his eyes, and yeah, the knowledge that I had put it there was heartbreaking. “Am I that bad a kisser?”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. “That’s not it and you know it. I just… got a little overwhelmed, I guess. By how much I like you.”
He nodded slowly. “I like you, too, Mariel. A lot. Is there anything I should have done differently? Or could do, in case of a potential second time?”
“You… would want there to be a second time?”
“And third and fourth and every number until infinity.” He spread his hands. “If that’s what you want.”
“I do,” I said, and took a step closer to him. “And Dash, I’m the one who owes you an apology.”
He shook his head. “What, for feeling overwhelmed? You shouldn’t have to apologize for that. I just… would really appreciate it if you tried talking to me before running off. If you still feel like fleeing after we’ve had a conversation, then fine.”
“You may not have noticed, but I have a hard time being vulnerable with people.”
“News to me,” Dash said, a smile playing over his lips.
I couldn’t help but grin back at him, mostly out of sheer relief.
“Right? I hide it so well. The thing is, you weren’t that far off the mark when you noticed that I run away whenever things get too emotional.
I don’t always do it on purpose—most of the time, I’m operating on pure instinct.
” I forced myself to keep my gaze on him.
“When you kissed me, Dash, it felt… monumental. Like it wasn’t just a kiss, but something bigger. It felt like a beginning.”
His eyes were soft. “It did for me, too.”
I pressed on. “And the thing is, I haven’t been great with beginnings lately, because I’ve been through so many of them. And the thing about beginnings is that they always come to an end.”
He nodded. “And then come the happily ever afters.”
“Not everyone gets happily ever afters, Dash.” Maybe he did, with his eyes that sparkled like a sprinkle of stars dipped in sunshine.
In need of a beat, I went to hang up my tote on its hook by the door. When I turned back to him, Dash was looking serious.
“It would be too soon for me to promise you all that,” he said, resting a hand on my melamine countertop like he wanted to reach out to me, but didn’t want to risk scaring me off again.
“All I know is that I like you. And look, I know I have a bad habit of getting a little too intense when I really like someone. So if you feel like I’m coming on too hard, or moving too fast, just tell me and I’ll stop. ”
“Maybe if we keep this casual,” I suggested, unable to miss the slight flicker behind his eyes, though I didn’t quite know how to interpret it. “No beginnings, no endings, and no expectations. Friends who kiss… and do other things, maybe. If you want.”
Some of the tension in my shoulders evaporated as he broke out into a sudden laugh.
“Are you trying to distract me from talking about my feelings?” Despite the laughter, or maybe because of it, there was an edge to his voice.
I wasn’t sure what it meant—but it couldn’t have meant much when he followed it with “Because if you are, it’s a better strategy than running away, but you’ll never win in the end. ”
“My evil plan has been foiled,” I murmured, with a step forward that put me close enough to Dash to smell a hint of the cinnamon he liked in his coffee.
I felt steadier now, like I was on firmer ground.
Like we both were. “Note to self: don’t kiss people who are more emotionally mature than you are. ”
“Or,” Dash suggested, holding out a hand and threading his fingers through mine, “you could keep on kissing me in spite of my embarrassing lack of emotional damage.”
I pretended to sigh. “If I must.”
“Would you want to do it again right now?”
I ran my free fingertips over his lips. “I can’t believe you still want to kiss me.”
“I doubt I would find it possible to stop.” He closed his eyes, lowering his forehead to meet mine.
I thought about explaining to Dash that plenty of other people had managed it just fine, but fuck words.
Fuck talking. What was the point of all that when Dash’s lips were gliding over mine, softly and smoothly and so fleetingly that I had to grab two handfuls of his T-shirt and wrench them toward me to make him understand what I needed.
I must have pulled hard enough to unbalance him because we tumbled backward onto the only piece of furniture in my apartment—my bed.
All the laundry piled up in a corner made things kind of awkward, and I ended up on my back with my legs on a pile of folded sundresses and Dash half-sprawled on my chest with one knee on the mattress and another leg safely on the ground.
“Impatient” was his keen observation.
“Like you didn’t know that about me,” I retorted, plunging my fingers into his hair and pulling him close again.
This time, Dash gave me exactly what I was craving.
He kissed me with a need that didn’t just echo mine—it merged with it, amplifying it into a single, undeniable roar that rushed over us both.
The small, helpless, hungry sound he made when the tip of my tongue touched his bottom lip dove somewhere deep inside my chest and stayed there.
Braced against the mattress, Dash adjusted his stance as I swept my palms over his flexed biceps and twined my arms around his neck to pull him down for one kiss after another.
“So,” he said when we resurfaced for a breath or two, “how was that?”
“Still overwhelming, but in the best way possible.”
“You feeling up for more, or would you rather take it slow? You know I’m good with whatever you want.”
I made myself take a pause to really consider my answer, though a huge percentage of me wanted to drag Dash down again and lose myself in his kisses.
I didn’t feel too broken at the moment. I wasn’t kidding myself that half an hour at a psychic’s had cured me of my relationship trauma or even helped me as much as the therapy I was definitely going to sign up for as soon as I had health insurance again, but all the Milo crap that had turned up after leaving Dash’s, like earthworms after a rainstorm, had receded enough that I could once again see the shining thread of my attraction for Dash.
I wanted to grab on to it and never let go. I wanted to grab on to him and never let go.
“I want to be with you,” I told Dash, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. “And I’m moderately sure I won’t run away again. I think. Are you sure about this, though?”