Before
BEFORE
During my last four days with Michael, we don’t mention the possibility of me staying again. Yet he often gets a faraway look, as if arguing with himself, and sometimes, I catch such conflict in his eyes that my pulse skitters erratically in response.
Our kisses get deeper. Longer. Laced with desperation. Michael does everything short of tearing my underwear off, and I do everything short of tearing off his. We writhe and sweat and moan together until I nearly climax from the rock of his hips alone, but I stop myself. I want him inside me, that first time. I want everything he has to give, all at once.
It’s torture.
At Michael’s insistence, I put a price hold on a ticket to Athens, which reserves me the option to purchase at any point until departure. My assignment at the mortgage company has left me with enough to cover the cost, but I don’t click Buy. Or Cancel. Because how do you decide which half of your heart to rip out?
On our last morning together, or maybe the first of many, I awaken to find a breakfast tray resting on the crisp white sheets.
Michael stands beside the bed in boxer briefs, a single red rose in hand. Backlit by the foggy morning, he looks like an angel who’s accidentally tumbled to earth.
I sit up, my heart straining against my ribs. Maybe his name suits him, after all. At the very least, he’s come swooping into my life like a miracle, and today, he’ll finally, finally belong to me in all the ways I desire.
Except the longer I look, the more his smile looks wrong. An edge of despair sharpens that normally easy grin, as if he expects to have earth-shattering sex with me and watch me fly away afterward.
Which, of course, he does.
“I made your favorite,” he says. “Eggs Benedict with bacon.”
“Wow,” I croak, my voice gritty. My eyes drop to his perfectly packaged...package. This moment has been a month in the making. “It’s like you’re trying to get laid, or something.”
He gives me a knowing look and lays the rose on the breakfast tray. “You know, it took me three tries to get the hollandaise right. I had no idea eggs and butter could be so finicky when you mix them together. It’s like they have some kind of feud going on.”
He’s striving for lightness, but he can’t fool me. “Michael...”
“It’s okay,” he says briskly. “I’m okay. There’s no tomorrow, remember? Just today.”
I nod. Those magical words only sound sad right now.
He clears his throat. “Anyway. What time’s your flight?”
I look away. I don’t tell him I haven’t actually booked anything, just have the option to. “Eight p.m.”
“Okay.” He lets go of a long breath. “Plenty of time. Eat up, and then I’m taking you somewhere.”
Disappointment washes through me. “Taking me somewhere? But...wouldn’t you like to do something else first?”
“What, were you expecting me to pounce on you the second you woke up?”
“I wouldn’t say expecting it.” I lick my lips. “More like desperately, shamelessly begging for it, inside my head.”
“Really,” he says, not a question.
“Really.”
He stands there long enough that the air snaps and sizzles. The bulge of his boxer briefs grows decidedly bulgier, but instead of tackling me the way I long for, he only adjusts himself and backs up a step. “Don’t ruin this. I have it all planned, and it’s supposed to be memorable. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from romantic comedies—and I think there might actually be only one—it’s that.”
I zero in on his impressive downstairs showing. “There’s nothing in this room right now that isn’t extremely memorable.”
“You know, I’m starting to feel like you just want me for my body.”
“That’s a distinct possibility,” I say.
His tongue sweeps out over his lower lip. I can see his mental scales tipping. I imagine the breakfast tray crashing to the floor, him on top of me, thrusting and claiming, each honed muscle sharp and perfect as he buries his body in mine.
Even in the feverish realm of imagination, it’s almost too much. I have to press my thighs together in order to quiet the fluttering ache there.
Michael shakes himself, breaking the moment. “I have a plan , you minx . And it starts with breakfast. Don’t mess it up.”
I pout, but I have to admit the eggs look incredible. Hollandaise drenches half the plate, rousing an entirely different kind of hunger. “Fine. Food first. Then this secret place. Where you intend to...?”
“Tell you something.” His voice drops. “About me. I have to get something straight before we go any further.”
“Wait...what?” I frown. “That sounds ominous.”
His smile looks watered-down. “I hope not.”
“Okaaay.” I draw the word out. “But it kind of makes it sound like you’ve been keeping some giant secret this whole time.”
Secret . Even the word tastes strange.
“No, not a secret. Consider this more of a full-disclosure, informed-consent kind of deal.”
I climb out of bed, suddenly needing the reassurance of his touch more than anything else. Halfway to him, a thought occurs, and I freeze. “Is this about you having some kind of incurable STD?”
His lips twitch. “No. And it’s really not all that earth-shattering. I promise. So just...enjoy your breakfast. I have a quick errand to run, and when I get back, I’ll take you someplace special. And we’ll talk. Then, if you decide you still want that goodbye gift we agreed on...” His perpetual grin struggles to the surface, and he almost seems like himself again, his familiar confidence burning off the tension the same way Seagrove’s sun dissolves the ocean haze on summer mornings.
I go up on tiptoes to kiss him. The familiarity of his lips against mine convinces me that whatever he has to say, it won’t change anything. “Then? Then what?”
His aged-bourbon voice turns to smoke and ash. “Then I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”
I succumb to a whole-body shiver, and when he smiles again, I smile back. Neither of us mentions what will happen afterward.
That can wait, I decide. Because right now, I want to be in this moment, here, with him, and nowhere else.
“Hurry back,” I say.