This is an interesting turn of events, I decide as I put away the few things that we’d left out. As I do, I let my mind wander. I think about how glad I am that I’m on the pill now and that Pax’s STD tests came back negative. It’s nice not having to use condoms. And then, as I turn to rinse off the paring knife, I notice a hospital bill laying on the counter. I glance at it, and notice that it was from the night Pax overdosed which was exactly two months ago today.
I’m astounded. I hadn’t realized it has been this long. Two whole months. Who would have ever thought that we’d last this long?
But Pax is back before I can over-analyze it. He grabs my hand, leading me up to the guest bathroom.
“Why are we in here?” I ask as we walk inside.
“Because my bathroom doesn’t have a tub,” he explains. “And after that performance, you deserve a hot bath. I don’t have bubble bath, but I used some of your body wash from upstairs. Is that okay?”
I nod as I stare at the steaming, claw-footed tub. It’s filled with bubbles and there is a folded towel next to it. And two lit candles. I can’t even believe that he thought of this.
“Thank you,” I tell him, as I turn and hug him. “This is so sweet.”
“It’s just a bath,” he murmurs as I continue to squeeze him. “It’s not a big deal.”
But it is. No one has ever run a bath for me, except for my mother, when I was little.
“It’s the sweetest thing ever,” I tell him as I step in. “Trust me.”
I settle against the back of the tub and close my eyes.
“I’ll let you soak for a bit,” Pax tells me before he backs out of the room. I relax, inhaling the lavender scent as I enjoy the hot water. Every muscle kink fades away as I soak. And I revel in the thought that my big, bad boyfriend ran a bubble-bath for me.
Just when my fingers are starting to prune, he walks through the door again. He’s got underwear on now, but his chest is still bare.
“Hi,” he says as he kneels behind me on his knees, reaching in and running his fingers along my shoulders. “How was the bath?”
He bends and kisses the side of my neck and I lean into him.
“It was amazing,” I answer. “Thank you. It was just what I needed.”
“Want to know something?” he whispers into my ear. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I love you.”
I freeze, my heart pounding. I can literally hear my pulse pounding in my ears.
I flip over in the water, my wet hands grasping his on the edge of the tub.
“Did you just say what I think you said?”
He nods. And for once, there is not one ounce of amusement on his face. He is completely serious.
“I love you. I love how you are so sweet and innocent and kind to people, but you are such a vixen in the sack. I love how you look at me. I love your smile. I love everything about you.”
I am completely still as I stare at him in utter shock.
This is big. Huge. I’ve known for a couple of weeks that I loved him, but I didn’t want to scare him by telling him so. But he said it first. Tonight. It’s dumbfounding. And unexpected.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” he asks and he actually looks nervous, as though I might reject him. My heart twinges.
“I love you, too,” I tell him quickly. “I have for weeks.”
And I leap out of the tub, the water sloshing onto the floor as I barrel into his arms. The velocity knocks him to the ground and I hover above him, dripping.
“I love you,” I tell him again.
“I see that,” he laughs, kissing me. “Simple words would have sufficed. You didn’t need to knock me down with it.”
I giggle. “Shut up and kiss me.”
So he does.
Chapter Nineteen
Pax
I know I’m being a * now.
But as I stare at Mila, at the beautiful girl in front of me, I can’t help but know that I’ve never loved anything like I love her. It’s true. The baffling thing is that she loves me back. That’s mind-boggling…this beautiful girl wants me. I keep waiting to somehow fuck it up. But I haven’t yet and she is still here.
She kisses me now, her lips wet from her bath and I inhale her, my hands running over her naked back.
“You’re a wrinkled prune,” I tell her, chuckling. I hold up the towel and she steps out into it. I wrap it her shoulders, then grab another one to dry her off.
“You’re too good to me,” she announces.
“Not possible,” I answer.
God. I am a *.
She runs upstairs to slip into one of my t-shirts and I light the fireplace. We curl up on the couch in front of the fire and chat for at least an hour, watching the lake ripple under the silvery moon.
“This has been the perfect date,” she murmurs, curled halfway onto my lap. “Even if we did almost burn down your house.”
I chuckle. “Thank god I’m insured.”
Her giggle is interrupted by a wide yawn. She slaps her hand over her mouth, embarrassed.
“Sorry! You wore me out tonight, I guess. Are you ready for bed?”
I nod and turn off the fire and follow her upstairs. I marvel in the fact that it seems so comfortable with her here. She makes it feel like home. And for some reason, that terrifies me and I don’t know why. So I do what I always do when something bothers me. I shake it off and block it out.
I curl up behind Mila and wrap my arms around her. I fall asleep with my face buried in her hair.
But then I dream.