It was a great idea actually, forcing Frankie and I to separate after several days being attached at the…well, being attached in several places. We needed to get used to sleeping alone again, to not having a person to share body heat, or waking up in the middle of the night with wandering touches. I needed that, because I was having an admittedly hard time coming to terms with giving all those aspects of this arrangement up in three days.
Cold sheets? Faulty staffroom Keurig coffee instead of that beautiful hot cup sitting on the bedside table for me when I woke up? God, it was horrible, and the bandage had to be ripped off.
“Stop cleaning my kitchen. You know I hate it.” Frankie pulled a pint glass out of my hand and placed it back down, then caged me into the counter. “Can we talk about this?”
His doe-brown eyes and pouty lip nearly had me, but the more plausible, sensible side of my brain knew that letting him have his way would only prolong the inevitable and that wasn’t good for either of us. I ducked my head and escaped underneath his outstretched arm, backing out of the kitchen and toward the front of the house.
“See you guys tomorrow!” I shouted to the Swans. It was returned with a grumble of goodbyes I couldn’t decipher as one or the other.
“Ophelia,” Frankie complained, following me. He reached out and tugged the back of my shirt, keeping me from walking away. My back met a hard chest and then the wall as I was spun into the shade of the foyer away from everyone’s eyes but his. “I don’t want you to leave.”
The light from the moon shone through the windows and illuminated half of his face, inches from mine. “I’ll see you in twelve hours.”
“Too many.” He shook his head.
“You’re ridiculous.” My palm connected with his chest and was met with solid resistance.
“Do I have to get on my knees? Is that what’ll do it for you?”
“I do love you on your knees,” I placated him, running my fingers from his chest to his jaw, entwining them into his hair. “But no.”
“If I don’t get to fuck you tonight, I’ll lose my mind.”
“You won’t, I promise.”
“I’ve been thinking about it all damn day, O. Please, baby, put me out of my misery.”
His begging was playful, but the words hit in a way that was anything but. “Stop it.”
Our breathing mingled, the sweet bitterness of his beer dancing across my senses. My tongue ached to slip out and taste it. We were basically there—my top lip feathered across his, our noses brushed. A familiar heat stirred to life between my legs and as if he could sense it, Frankie flattened me to the wall with his entire body, his thigh slipping into the gap I’d left in mine.
“Don’t do this,” I murmured lazily. All the while my grip in his hair tightened and a slow circle of my hips began on its own accord.
“Do what?” I heard his smile.
“Try to get me all riled up when you know I’m leaving.”
Our mouths swept against one another again, this time slower, leaving the sensitive flesh tingling for more. Frankie’s hand came down on the bone of my hip, riding it like a wave, guiding me back and forth more intentionally against him.
“You’re doing everything all on your own, Trouble.”
I opened my mouth to challenge him as plush lips sank down and claimed mine, rendering me speechless in one searing, hungry kiss that felt like a day's worth of contention let out like a pinhole in a balloon.
My eyelids drooped closed for a moment, but then snapped open resiliently. I wasn’t so easy to persuade, no matter how gorgeous and doting the man doing the persuasion was. But, fuck, I sucked at this. One off-guard moment nearly had me skipping down the hallway to his bed.
I put all my strength into my closed fists and pushed him away, catching Frankie in an instance of weakness himself. He reared back, surprise coloring his face as I weaseled my way to the open front door before he could gain his bearings and find a way to pull me right back in.
“Goodnight, Frankie,” I simpered, passing Mateo on the walkway toward a waiting Nat in the car.
35
One thing about being in the trenches with a group of men for as long as I had been is that they learn to see right through you. You don’t spend a decade of your life beside people you consider your brothers without also forming a bond that makes it hard to hide exactly what the fuck you’re thinking and feeling at all times.
We sat on the dimly lit patio, crickets chirping, the low hum of the hot tub sending a wave of vibration under our feet. I had been nursing the same piss warm beer for an hour and picking at the label with the raw side of my thumb, willing my phone to ping with a message.
My focus waxed and waned alongside every conversation. I was too in my own head about Ophelia and the way she left, and I knew that feeling was only going to get worse and more permanent until I forgot what it was ever like to not miss her.
Which wasn’t an option, because I refused to be the down-on-my-ass friend again. The one that everyone worried about from afar and talked about privately. When I sat with it though, life was moving forward for everyone but me. Sam had his nonprofit, Tyler owned a business, my best friend in the whole fucking world was getting married, undoubtedly starting a family close behind. But I was at a crossroads.
What I wanted and what I was ready to commit to were two opposing forces, and I wished like hell that someone or something could just show me the right path to choose. It didn’t have to be the easy one, or the obvious one. No matter what I did at this point, I was giving up something that I cared about anyway. In Colorado I didn’t have my family, in Florida I didn’t have my job. I was losing my grip on Ophelia whether I liked it or not. Not spending one of the last nights we had together was forcing me to face the reality I’d been avoiding.
“Who shit in your Cheerios, Pike?” Echo kicked the leg of my chair. “We boring you?”
“He’s sad it’s just him and his hand tonight,” Cap said.
I flicked my bottle cap off the armrest in his direction. “Fuck off.”
Sam sat up. “You’re getting soft on us.”
“This one's gonna buy his fiancé a puppy tomorrow because she gave him a look, and I’m soft?”
“The difference is that I own my shit.” Mateo pointed at himself. “I know that I’m whipped and I’m happy to be here.”
“What happens when she flies home?” Tyler asked me. “Are you going to get over it?”
“There’s nothing to get over,” I lied. The warm beer marinating between my sweaty palms tasted like spit as I tossed it back to avoid the third degree. “It was sex.”
“You bought her a necklace,” Cap reminded me.
“It was Christmas.” Fuck, the beer tasted like shit.
“Oh, shit.” Sam sighed dramatically.