God, these jeans are killing me, I think, as I manage to lower her onto the cushions, onto her back. I slip my palm beneath her T-shirt, just exploring, edging closer to her breasts, and feel the cool of Alex’s band against the warmth of her skin. I pull back, but keep on with the kisses. There’s the sound of her soft breathing in my ear, quick breaths, and I feel her hands roaming my back, lower still, then stopping. My whole body spasms knowing how close she just got.
“Rebecca, Andie’s in the next room, but…” I hesitate, even though I swear I’d beg her, I’d do anything to find a way for what I want tonight.
She presses her fingertips against my lips, silencing me. “Michael, we can’t.”
“Yeah we can, of course we can,” I say, nuzzling her cheek, but she stops me, clasping my face within her strong hands.
She steadies me, until our eyes lock. “Michael, I was serious when I said there are things you don’t know.”
“I know everything that matters.”
“No,” she gasps, her breathing ragged as she shifts her hips beneath mine. “No, you really don’t.”
“What? You a guy in drag or something?” She doesn’t laugh, just stares up at me, shocked. “Hell, that would solve some issues,” I tease, leaning in to kiss her again, but she stops me, staring into my eyes hard.
“You’ve seen my scars, Michael,” she says, her voice husky and filled with emotion. “But you haven’t seen them all.”
“That what this is all about?” I ask, relieved to finally understand.
“Michael, they’re bad, okay. Really bad.”
“Baby, I don’t care about that,” I whisper, brushing her hair away from her cheek. “I don’t give a damn about that.”
She turns away from me, and I think I see tears glint in her eyes as she whispers, “But you haven’t seen the whole picture.” She wipes at her eyes. “My body’s not the same anymore, Michael. It’s not just the scars you’ve seen; it’s the ones you haven’t. And there’s my respiratory stuff: I’m sick some days, others…” One hand flutters over her chest. “There’s a whole lot you don’t know.”
“You really think that’ll change how I feel?”
“I need more time.” She pulls in a nervous breath, adding, “And you still love Alex.”
Now that one takes me aback, and I have to process it for a minute. “Is that a problem?” I finally ask, defiant anger edging my voice.
“No, Michael.” She smiles, a sad expression that surprises me. “It’s just that I think we both need more time.”
For a long moment, I stare into her eyes, blinking. It feels like she just slapped me, pulling Alex right here between us that way. I sit up, swinging my legs onto the floor, and cover my mouth with my hands.
“Are you angry?” she asks solemnly, and I feel her shift behind me, curling her legs up so she can sit beside me. How come with me, love always has to be so damn complex?
“Nope, not angry.”
“Good.”
“You should know something, though,” I say, turning to face her. “I’m not letting go of Alex anytime soon.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Nah, I think you just did.”
She reaches for my right hand, cradling it within her own. “I’d never do that. It’s just that you should at least be ready to make room for someone else first.” She outlines his ring on my finger for emphasis and whispers, “Because otherwise, it might be a mistake.”
“I tried taking it off. Just couldn’t, not yet.”
“You’ll know when the time is right,” she encourages me, touching the silver band with her fingertip. We fall silent a while, both of us staring down at Alex’s ring. I get the feeling there’s something she wants to ask of me, but can’t quite get the nerve.
“What is it?” I ask, my eyes locking with hers.
“Do you ever worry about staying healthy?” She seems nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt anxiously. “About AIDS or whatever?”
“No, ’cause I don’t sleep around,” I answer, my eyes narrowing at her. She’s asked such a straight person’s question. They’re convinced that we—the homosexual “other”—are always sleeping around.
“I don’t mean it as an insult, but it’s such a big question,” she rushes, “for any of us out there in the dating world, not just gay people.”
“Is that why you don’t want to sleep with me?” I ask, the weight of what she’s saying finally hitting home.
“Oh, Michael, no,” she says, shaking her head. “No, but I want to be sure that I understand.”
“Al and I were completely monogamous,” I answer simply, because I want her to feel comfortable about me, and about what’s starting between us. “End of story, okay? Neither of us slept around. I’m clean.”
She nods, staring down into her lap, seeming more fragile than anything else.
“Tell me about the two guys.”
Her blonde eyebrows arch upward in surprise. “You’re changing the subject.”
“It’s important. You’re talking about my one guy. You tell me about your two.”
“Well, the first—”she draws in a breath, looking oddly shy, “—was my high-school sweetheart.”
“Yeah? What’s his name?” I know enough about high-school sweethearts not to dismiss this guy too easily.
She laughs, glancing sideways at me. “Dr. Andrew Finkle, family dentist back in Dorian.”