“No,” she says. “Thank you.”
Her cheeks turn a brighter shade of red as we both realize she's checking me out. My ego inflates a bit, and part of me wants to ditch the shirt entirely, and just sleep in my boxers just to tempt her. Hell, I normally sleep naked, but, best not to go down that path. Sydney leaves the walk-in and goes back into the bathroom, and I decide to ditch the shirt anyway. I tell myself I’m not doing it to temp Sydney into any sort of action, but I know that’s just a bit of a lie. I can’t help wanting to be near her again after all these years. How often does a guy get a clean slate to right the wrongs of his past?
Being honest with myself, I can admit that having Sydney checking me out, and seeing that flash of what I think was lust in her eyes, stirs something inside of me. I feel a tension that grows below my boxers and I once again have to scold my throbbing erection that's begging for some release.
“No, not tonight.”
“Did you say something?” Sydney asks.
She steps back into view wearing nothing but my t-shirt, which falls almost to her knees. Even though she's mostly covered, I can't deny that seeing here standing there, in one of my shirts, is sexier than anything I've seen in a while. Possibly ever. But then, Sydney has always had that effect on me.
Her red hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her face is clean of any and all makeup.
I look at her again and feel those stirrings deep in my groin. I silently will myself to not get an erection around her, but it's getting more and more difficult to fight it back. The black shirt brings out the paleness of her skin, illuminating her. Back in the day, she always seemed to glow from within. That's something that most definitely hasn't changed with the passage of time. Her inner glow is as bright today as it ever was.
Sydney's eyes fall lower on my body, and she chuckles and her cheeks flare with color. She has to physically turn her head to hide her laughter.
“What?” I ask, but then it hits me.
I can feel the erection, long and hard, growing. I glance down, and the boxers are doing little to hide it. Heat rushes into my cheeks and I know they're turning a deeper scarlet color than hers currently are. Yeah, this is fucking awkward.
“Jesus Christ,” I say. “I'm sorry Sydney.”
“You can't help it,” she says. “It's – okay. It's not your fault. I know you're not trying to…”
Her voice trails off as if she's lost her train of thought. Her eyes sparkle and she's smiling, though she's trying to hide it. Sydney is doing her best to stifle her laughter – though, not very successfully. I shift on my feet and do my best to hide my hard-on, which is making an already awkward situation a hundred times worse.
“Seriously,” she says, “you look at me like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“That's because to me, you are,” I say. “You always have been.”
Shut up, Jack. She doesn't need this. She doesn't need you hitting on her, not when she can't remember anything about you or Peter – or anything else in her life for that matter. She's already feeling weird about it all, there's no need to keep piling on the weirdness.
Sydney looks down, but the smile remains. She pushes a tendril of loose hair behind her ear. She's never been more beautiful to me than she is in that moment.
“I really wish I had some answers,” she says.
“Me too.”
I toss on the shirt after all, and walk over to the bed, eager to cover up my erection. I climb in and throw the comforter over me and sit up with my back against the headboard. She follows and sits beside me on the bed, neither one of us saying anything for a long time. We just sit beside one another, looking into each other's eyes. As we do, the awkwardness of the previous moments dissipates entirely and the tension fades. Our silence becomes more companionable.
“Was Peter a good man?” she finally asks, breaking the silence. “From what you could tell?”
“I'm not sure how to answer that,” I say and give her a small shrug.
“Why not?”
I shrug. “I barely met him. It was literally for like two minutes,” I say. “And honestly, my feelings for you likely cloud anything I'd feel toward him.”
“But what was your first impression?” she presses. “Did I look happy, at least?”
She looks up at me, expecting answers. She wants something, but I'm not sure if she wants the truth. I have a feeling she won't like it. But, I don't want to lie to her, either. She deserves better than that. If she's going to reclaim her memories and her life, she should do it based on the truth. “He seemed like a douchebag to me,” I say. “And no, you didn't look happy. Daisy agreed with me – there was just something off about him. Something – slimy. He was extremely possessive of you.”
She nods, a serious look on her face. I can see the resolve in her eyes growing. It's as if my words only confirm thoughts that are already running through her own head.
“I feel that way too. I've been giving it a lot of thought, trying to remember and all, and I keep coming back to that,” she says. “Just from my dream and what I can remember – and the fact that he didn't even come looking for me at the hospital or anything. You'd think if he loved me, he'd come find me. Unless, he's responsible for what happened.”
“That's how I feel too.” I sigh, hating that she doesn't have all the answers she wants and needs. “But, I thought I might be biased.”
“Maybe you are. A little bit,” she says, a tiny grin on her lips. “Or, maybe you just know me better than I know myself.”
“Not hard to do right now.”
I kick myself mentally for that joke, afraid it might have been too much. A little too callous and insensitive. The old Sydney would have laughed at her situation – and the joke. I'm not sure how the new Sydney will react though.
Thankfully, she laughs and playfully punches me in the arm, and I let out a small sigh of relief.
“Hey now, you made a joke,” she says. “At my expense, no less.”
“I make lots of them. Most people never understand them, though.”
Sydney always did though. She always got me and my sense of humor. Right from the start. It's one reason I'm so powerfully attached to the woman. She gets me in ways nobody else ever has. She's like the gold standard and nobody will ever live up to her. She's special to me. Cherished. Always has been and always will be.
Sydney settles down into the bed, getting herself comfortable, and then rests her head on my shoulder. Her fingers trail up and down my arm, and I don't even think she realizes she's doing it. It's almost like an unconscious comfort-seeking gesture. She's just sitting there, staring off into the distance, thinking to herself.
“So, you joined the Marines, huh?”
It would figure that when she speaks again, she'd ask me that question. I feel my stomach lurch as I fear that the questions about our past are about to come flying fast and furious. I know she has to be curious about it all. To this point though, she's refrained from asking a single question.
“Yes,” I say. “As soon as I graduated high school.”
“Is that what you always wanted to do?” she asks. “Be a Marine?”
I lean back against the headboard and close my eyes. Again, I debate telling her a lie, just to make this conversation flow a little easier, and to avoid getting caught up on things that don't matter. I realize though, that what I'm really doing is trying to devise a way to avoid the questions I don't want to answer. Sydney though, deserves my honesty and transparency. So again, I settle on telling her the truth.
“Not really. I did it on a whim,” I say. “I wanted to be a better man. Someone people would respect.”
Her father also urged me to do so, just to get me away from her. I don't tell her that part, however. Telling her that will serve no purpose other than to raise more questions – questions that would be better answered by her father. I may not like him, but I don't want to denigrate the man.