Chapter Twenty-Two
Chloe
For a split second, he kisses back.
For a split second, everything in the universe is where it belongs.
Then his hands are on my shoulders.
He's pushing me backward.
Against the door.
It's not take your clothes off, spread your legs, and wrap your arms around me.
He's pushing me away.
My eyes blink open. Focus on his.
They're not heavy with desire or excitement or need.
He's pissed.
"Never mind." I go to turn the knob, but his fingers curl around my fist. He grabs me hard.
He stares down at me.
I stare up at him.
What the fuck?
He's been flirting with me for a month straight. He's been teasing me, touching me, straight up telling me he wants me.
And now he's glaring at me because I had the balls to do something about our mutual attraction.
Fuck Dean.
My teeth clench. "Let me go."
"No."
"It wasn't a request."
"Yeah, it was." His eyes bore into mine. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Isn't that obvious?"
"You're drunk, Chloe. You're going to regret this tomorrow."
No. I'm going to celebrate this tomorrow.
Fuck him for telling me what I want.
He has no fucking clue what I want.
This is exactly what I want.
My fingers brush the edge of the towel wrapped around his hips. "You think that little of yourself?"
His eyelids flutter closed.
A groan falls off his lips.
He wants this too.
His fingers wrap around my wrist. "Let's say you tear this towel off, drop to your knees, and suck me off."
My sex clenches. Let's not say anything. Let's do that. Let's do everything.
"What happens tomorrow?"
The awful test happens tomorrow. "The sun rises."
His brow furrows. "You think you can fuck me and everything can stay the same?"
"You managed okay."
"I didn't. And if you don't believe that, then you should go right now."
I bite my lip.
"I'm sorry I hurt you. I am. But that was seven years ago. I was a stupid kid. I know better now. I know there's no way I can fuck you and leave again."
"I don't want you to leave."
"This will change everything."
"So?" I push off the door. Move closer. Everything changes tomorrow whether I fuck him or not. He doesn't get it, but then, how could he? He doesn't know. "What if everything is supposed to change?"
He releases my wrist. "What if it's not?" His foot sinks into the carpet as he takes a step backward. "I wasn't the kind of guy you needed seven years ago. And I'm not now."
"You don't know what I need."
"Then tell me."
"I did." I stare up at him. "I need you to fuck me."
He moves into the main room. "I'm gonna get dressed."
"Don't."
"The towel isn't gonna help your case," he says.
"What will? What do you want to hear, Dean? That I like you. That I can't stop thinking about you. That you were the best I ever had. I do. You were. That's why I'm here."
"Which part of it?"
"All of it." I take two steps toward him. I'm begging him to fuck me. It's pathetic. But I don't care. I need to think about something else. I need to turn off my brain. To take this last chance to seize the fucking day. Night. Whatever.
His brow furrows. "You felt like this yesterday?"
"Yeah."
"But it took God knows how much vodka to get you here, telling me, today."
"I'm not here because I'm drunk."
"Then why?"
"I want you. It's that simple."
"Bullshit."
I reach for some way to explain it without telling him. Find nothing. "I've been fucking myself to you for the last three weeks straight." My hands go to the bottom of my tank top. "Why does it have to be complicated?"
"Stay there." He moves around the corner. His footsteps pad the hallway as he moves into the bedroom.
The towel hits the floor.
A drawer opens. He changes into something. Moves into the main room in jeans, no shirt, black boxers poking out from the waist band.
"If you're trying to tell me you don't want to fuck me, it isn't working." I brush past him as I move into the main room. Take a seat on the powder blue couch. My eyes find his. They beg for kindness, affection, mercy.
He offers none. "You gonna tell me why you're really here?"
I swallow hard.
"That's what I thought."
"Are you going to tell me why you were so afraid of getting hurt seven years ago? Why you still can't do relationships?"
"All right." He looks down at me. "Truth for truth."
"Only if you go first." I pull my feet onto the cushion. Sit cross legged.
He nods fair. "It's not easy to explain."
"You can try."
"All right." His footsteps sink into the carpet as he moves into the kitchen. "But I'm too sober for this conversation."
"I want you sober."
He reaches for a high shelf. Wraps his hand around a bottle of whiskey. "Right back at you, sunshine." He fills a glass and slams half in one gulp.
"Fine, but I—"
"You can have water." He grabs another glass. Fills it with water. Brings it, and the bottle, to the coffee table.
His fingers brush mine as he hands the glass over.
He sits on the couch next to me. His knee against mine. His shoulder touching mine.
I take a greedy sip. Wet my parched throat. Devour the drink in three sips. I'm still thirsty, but I don't want more water. I want him.
His knee rubs mine as he turns to face me. "Who starts?"
"You."
"All right." He drops the glass on the coffee table. He pours a shot's worth of whiskey. "Fuck. I'm too old for this." He wraps his fingers around the glass, brings it to his lips, slams it.
My gaze stays fixed on those soft lips.
His tongue slides over them.
His cheeks and chest flush. "Guess it's pretty simple." He turns to face me. "I don't trust women. Not when it comes to love."
"Why not?"
"It started a long time ago. At one of my parents' parties. I left the kid's room—I was tired of Ryan's music and I was really fucking tired of hearing him talk about Penny. That was before they started dating. When he was sure she wanted nothing to do with him. Our parents are family friends. But I guess that's irrelevant to my point." He runs his hand through his wet hair. "Fuck. Why'd you give me those shots?"
My lips curl into a half smile. "Take some personal responsibility."
"I'd rather blame you."
"What happened at the party?"
He presses his palms into his quads. "Mom's door was open. She was in there. With another guy. A family friend. They were kissing. Groping. I didn't see his dick or anything, but I saw enough."
"Oh."
"She realized I caught her. Freaked. Explained that we needed to keep this a secret. 'Cause telling Dad would only hurt him. I was fourteen. I got what was happening. Started keeping tabs on her. Even then, I knew it was fucked-up spying on my mom, but I didn't care. I had to know what the fuck it was."
"And?"
"She was in love with him. Wanted to leave my dad for him. But he got cold feet. Made up with his wife. For a while, she was miserable. Then things got better. Seemed like she and Dad were happy."
"Does Ryan know?"
"Maybe. I don't know. We never talked about it."
"You held onto all that?"
"Yeah."
Damn. That's a big secret to carry. Especially at fourteen. Especially as a younger sibling. "That was after he got sick?"
He nods. "I guess the stress pushed them apart."
That happens. But, still. There's no excuse. "Did you hate her for that?"
"Yeah."
"I would too." My hand goes to his thigh.
He looks down at it like he's not sure what he wants to do with it.
Then his eyes are on mine. "What are you doing, Chloe?"
"Why do you keep asking that?"
"You don't want this."
"Yes, I do. I want you."
"As?"
"As everything."
"I don't want to hurt you again."
"What does that mean?"
He sinks into his seat. "You haven't answered my question. Why is it you're here tonight?"
"What happened with your parents?"
"They made up. Lived happily ever after, I guess."
"You never told your dad?"
He shakes his head. "She was right. It would have hurt him. He still loves her more than anything. Why take that away?"
"It's a lie."
"Is it a lie if you believe it?"