Now she was standing there at the foot of the couch, looking at me. Wondering. Possibly wanting me.
Silently, I begged my dick not to give me away, because if she saw it move, if she touched me, I was gone. I wasn’t a good liar. It took everything out of me. Keeping up the facade at the restaurant and then making up that bullshit story upstairs had totally drained me. And it killed me to think I’d hurt her feelings.
If she put a hand on me, if she kissed me, if she whispered to me right now…that was it. I’d give in. I’d tell her the truth. We could still be good together. Somehow.
But she didn’t.
She left me alone, tiptoeing back up the stairs as quietly as she’d come down.
It was just as well.
Christ. Love sucks.
• • •
The next day was rough. I think she spoke a total of five sentences to me on the ride home, and they were all something like this.
“I need coffee.”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Do you want to stop for lunch?”
“I’ll have the chicken sandwich.”
“Thanks for the ride.”
In her driveway, she pulled her keys from her purse and opened the door.
“Natalie, wait.” I put my hand on her leg. “Shut the door, please.”
Reluctantly, she closed the car door and sat looking straight ahead.
I love you. “You’re still mad.”
“I’m not. Really.”
I love you. “Tell me I didn’t ruin our friendship.”
She sighed, turning to look at me. “You didn’t ruin our friendship.”
“Good.” Because I love you. “Because I’d never forgive myself.”
She lifted her shoulders. “Nothing to forgive. You are who you are, Miles.”
Ouch. “That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”
She pressed her lips together. “Sorry. I’m in a weird place right now. Just trying to reconcile everything that’s happened in the last week with who I am. Who I want to be. The truth is, I do think I started to get a little confused about us. Like you said, we’ve always had a connection, and then the sex was so good—”
“So good.” I put my hand on her arm. “So good.”
She smiled, her cheeks blooming with pink. “Yes. Well, it all started to feel a little too good. Probably a good thing you’re heading out west. I need some time to myself, so I think stepping back at this point is a good thing. But don’t be a stranger, OK?”
Something weird and horrible squeezed my throat, like it was trying to choke me. “I won’t.”
She leaned over and gave me a hug, and I nearly lost it. Clutching her to me, one hand on the back of her head, one arm wrapped around her back, I took a deep breath and held her scent inside my lungs, wishing I could bottle it somehow. Take it with me. Curl up with it at night when I missed her, which would be all the fucking time now. But that would be no good because if I could smell her, I’d want her body next to me. And if I had her body next to me, I’d want to touch it. Claim it. Devour it. Bury myself in it.
Oh great, now I was hard. Just great.
She released me and sat back. “Now make a dirty joke or say something about your dick so I know we’re really OK.”
“Um. That hug got me hard.”
She laughed. “Good. Hate to think I lost my effect on you just because you had my buns for five days straight.”
Her buns. Oh, God. “Not at all. You’ll always do something to me. That’s just the way we are.” I took her hand and kissed her fingers.
She nodded slowly, her eyes shiny, and gently pulled her hand from mine. “I better go in. Safe travels, OK?”
“OK. Want some help with your bag?”
“No, thanks. It’s small, I’ve got it.” She reached into the back for her little suitcase and shut the door, giving me a little wave before heading toward the house.
I watched her let herself in and close the door behind her, then thumped the steering wheel twice. “Fuck!” Fisting my hands in my hair, I reconsidered my decision to let her go. It wasn’t too late—I could knock on the door, tell her the truth. Tell her I loved her, but I didn’t know how to be the man she deserved. Tell her I wanted to be the stranger who upended her life, and the one who helped her put it back together. Tell her I’d do anything to have the chance to make her happy.
Are you fucking crazy? No! You can’t do that. She just told you she wanted time to herself. She wants to step back. Don’t go running in there and make a fool of yourself. The truth is, you’re not good enough for her. You’re not what she wants. You can’t have her.
You never could.
I shut the door—the door—behind me and leaned back against it, waiting to hear his Jeep pull away.
Go, Miles.
He didn’t.
What the hell are you doing?
I went into the bathroom and peeked out the window. His Jeep was still there in the driveway, and he had his head in his hands.
My heart ached for a second before I thought, He can’t handle emotions. No surprise there.
But what was he feeling? Regret? Sadness? Indecision? Maybe he was just waiting for his hard-on to go away. I bit my lip¸ wondering what would happen next. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to happen… If he got out of the car and knocked on the door, would I let him in? And for what? More sex? What the hell else did he have to offer?
And the more sex we had, the more attached I got.
No. I couldn’t do it.
Go, Miles. Before I fall in love with you.
The next second he was peeling out of the driveway and taking off down the street.
Backing away from the window, I grabbed my suitcase from the front hall and avoided looking at the door. I trudged upstairs and unpacked, telling myself that this was for the best—a clean break while we were still on good terms. I needed time to heal, and he needed to time to grow up.
Something told me I’d get there first.
• • •
I didn’t hear from Miles for three weeks, nor did I reach out to him. I thought about it a million times, but each time I picked up the phone, something told me not to do it. He’d probably just think I was trying to rope him into a relationship, pressure him to be someone he’s not. And since he wasn’t texting me, I figured he didn’t miss me like I missed him.
And I missed him so much. It shocked me how much—after all, I was used to short, intense bursts of his company and then nothing for long periods of time. But this time when we said goodbye, he took a piece of me with him, and I felt the loss like a sickness. I missed his eyes, his laugh, his voice, his terrible dirty jokes, and his obscene mouth. I missed the way he smelled, the way he breathed, the way he looked at me. I missed sexy things like the roll of his hips, the stroke of his tongue, the depth of his body inside mine. I missed silly things like the way he reached for his glasses when he woke up, the way he defended his plastic forks, the way he panted for cinnamon buns. Didn’t he miss them? Maybe he was really just a love the one you’re with kind of guy, and he was on to the next breakfast pastry.
Then he called me.
It was a Saturday night in mid-July, and Skylar and Jillian were over helping me paint the kitchen a soft gray color that reminded me of the t-shirt Miles had given me to sleep in. I’d left that t-shirt on his bed after giving it a little spritz of my perfume, just to torture him. Wonder if he washed it yet.
“Nat, your phone’s ringing.” Skylar glanced at me over her shoulder. She was standing on a ladder near the sink, and my phone was on the counter. “It’s Miles.”
“It is?” My heart immediately started beating faster, but I took a deep breath and kept concentrating on my brush strokes where I was cutting in around the base molding.