Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brooklyn
I wake up sore everywhere. I lost count of how many orgasms he gave me yesterday. I doubt I’ll be able to walk straight. He’s awake before me again but holding me. I’m dreading this morning. I’m dreading this day.
“How are you this morning?” he whispers. His chin is resting against the top of my head.
“Sore,” I laugh.
He leans back. “Was it too much? Did I hurt you?”
I rub my hand over his chest. “No. It was perfect. I’ve never been happier to be sore, but I don’t think I could take another round. I need to get going anyway.”
I feel his body tense under me.
“Go?” His voice is tight.
I sit up, holding the sheet up over my chest. It’s silly. I spent the entire day in bed with him yesterday. We fucked in the shower, and one more time last night on the kitchen counter, but right now, I don’t want to be naked.
His jaw is clenched. He sits up too. “Where are you going, Brooklyn?”
“Home.”
I see his Adam’s apple roll, one of his eye twitches slightly.
“Home?” he finally says.
“Yes. I have to fly back. I have work tomorrow.” I’m searching around for my clothes now. They are nowhere to be seen.
He’s completely still, completely quiet.
“Where is my shirt?” I mumble. He opens a drawer and tosses me one of his. “Here.”
I pull it over my head, and then I stand up, so I can really look for my clothes. I haven’t seen them in two days.
“Can we talk about this?” he says.
I stop and close my eyes. “What's there to talk about?”
“A fucking lot,” he yells, surprising me.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, “Fine, let’s talk. Go ahead. Would you like to tell me why you don’t write anymore?”
He doesn’t respond.
“How about why you can’t go upstairs?”
His jaw is clenched so hard now I’m afraid he might crack a tooth.
“Or you could share why you don’t get along with Hawk?”
“Brooklyn...”
“I thought so,” I interrupt. I’m on my feet again. I finally spot my bra on the dresser. Once I grab it, I start to scan the room again.
“Will you stop?” He huffs as he pulls on his pants.
“Kip, we agreed this was temporary.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “A lot has happened since then, Brooklyn.”
“We live 4,000 miles apart, Kip. I have a job. You have a restaurant. How would this work?”
He’s still holding the bridge of his nose. “We could make it work.”
I’m surprised he’s resisting this at all. Last time, he didn’t seem to mind at all that I was leaving, but it doesn’t change reality. As much as this hurts, it will only hurt more later.
“I can’t be in a one-sided relationship, Kip.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he asks.
“It means there’s a wall between us. You won’t let me in.”
He lets out a frustrated groan. “So you need to be my fucking therapist?”
“No, Kip, I’d be your girlfriend, and I can’t if you won’t talk to me.”
He looks like I’ve just slapped him across the face.
“I have a hard time letting people in,” he says.
“I’ve noticed.” My arms are over my chest. I spot my panties on a plant by the window. How the heck did they get over there?
“So this is it?” His eyes are holding so much pain.
“It’s better this way, Kip. If not, we’ll just drag it out, and it will be more painful in the end.”
“Why does it have to be painful? Why would it need to end?”
“Haven’t you been listening to me?” I yell. I stomp over to the corner and grab my panties. My pants are on the floor beside the plant. I snatch those up too.
“Your shirt.” He’s holding it out. I yank it from his hands, march into the bathroom, and slam the door behind me.