Without Merit

Not everyone likes themselves! That doesn’t mean I’m suicidal or depressed or unable to differentiate feelings for a guy with feelings for my life.

Sagan looks at me apologetically, like my frustration actually means anything to him. He slides his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor for a moment. When he looks up at me, he does it slowly. Starting at my feet, trailing up my bare legs. I can see the roll of his throat when his gaze meets the hem of my T-shirt, then crawls up my body until he’s looking me in the eye. He doesn’t even have to speak for me to know what he’s thinking. He’s looking at me like maybe I’m right—maybe a kiss wouldn’t interfere. Maybe it would bring us both relief.

I quietly inhale because that one look makes it feel like I just sank to the bottom of his heart and there isn’t a single air pocket to keep me alive. He could probably open his mouth and call me an asshole again and I’d still want to kiss the lips the insult came from. I can’t even remember what we’re arguing about because my head is swimming.

Apparently, neither can he because he stalks toward me and grabs hold of me, one arm around my waist, one splayed out against the side of my neck. I tilt my face up to his, hoping he’s about to realize how wrong he was so he can just kiss me. I want it hard and frantic and fast, but he’s painfully slow as he draws closer.

He lets out a quiet sigh and his mouth is so close to mine, I steal his sigh with a gasp. And then his lips finally connect with mine. It’s both unexpected and overdue. I moan with relief against his kiss and immediately reciprocate.

As soon as our tongues collide, it becomes so frantic, I lose my way around him. My hands get lost in his hair, my reservations get lost in his touch, my anger gets lost in his groan. His tongue strokes mine with delicacy, but his hands are making up for the patience of his mouth. His right arm slides down my back and down to my thigh where my T-shirt ends. He slides his hand up my bare thigh, over my panties and then up my back, this time skin to skin. He pulls me against him but walks me backward at the same time until my back meets the wall behind me.

“My God,” he whispers against my lips. “Your mouth is amazing.”

I think his is pretty amazing, too, but I don’t respond because I’d rather give him back my tongue. He takes it, kissing me deeper, pressing himself against me and into the wall.

This kiss is everything I thought it would be and more. I’m amazed at how healing his mouth is. As soon as he pressed it against mine, it’s like all the stress that’s been swimming around in my head disappeared. All the angst, the frustration, the anger—it subsides with every stroke of his tongue.

This is exactly what I needed.

His hand is now sliding around to my waist, but before he goes any higher, he pauses to catch his breath. I gasp when I have air again, clasping my arms around him, trying to stop the room from spinning. I let my head fall back against the wall. Sagan drags his lips across my cheek and then kisses me on the mouth, soft and gentle, before pulling back to look down at me. He runs a hand down my hair, stopping at the nape of my neck. “That was fucking dazing,” he whispers.

I merely smile because he summed it up perfectly with a phrase I’m not sure I’ve ever used. Fucking dazing.

He kisses the corner of my mouth and then brushes his nose across my cheek. He pulls back, gently taking my face in both hands. With a small smile that completely melts me, he says, “It’s incredible how much better a kiss can make you feel, right?”

I nod. “So incredible.”

His thumb brushes my cheek, and then his satisfied grin falls into a pointed stare. “That’s exactly why I won’t do it again, Merit. You need to fall in love with yourself first.” He watches me for a moment, his eyes searching mine.

I have no reaction.

I’m too shocked to move. Or too hurt?

Did he seriously only kiss me to prove his point?

What?

I’m flat against the wall, unable to move. When I say nothing in return, he releases me and calmly walks out of my room.

I’m too shocked to cry. Too angry to run after him. Too embarrassed to acknowledge that part of what he’s saying might actually have some truth in it. That kiss took away everything I’ve been feeling and replaced it with a momentary sense of euphoria. I’d give anything to have that feeling back. Which is exactly what Sagan was trying to tell me. My feelings for him will cloud all the other stuff that’s going on in my head.

Just because I finally understand what he’s trying to say doesn’t mean I’m over my anger. If anything, I’m even more pissed at him.





Chapter Thirteen

Merit?”

I reluctantly open my eyes and Luck is standing in the doorway of my bedroom. I try to process what time it is, what day it is.

“Can I come in?”

It’s afternoon, I think. I nod and sit up. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?”

“Almost time for dinna.”

I smile at his random accent slip. It hasn’t been happening as much as it did at the beginning of the week. He pulls my blanket over his lap and leans back against my headboard. “You’ve had a busy couple of days,” he says. “You probably needed the nap.”

I laugh halfheartedly. “In that case, I think we all needed a nap.” But as it stands, this wasn’t a nap. I’m just now waking up for the day, considering I stayed up most of the night last night pissed off at Sagan for what he said. I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned all night, throwing around all the excuses for why he’s wrong. I don’t even want to think about it again. I glance at Luck. He’s wearing his Starbucks uniform. He looks so strange in normal clothes.

“How do you like your new job?” I ask him.

“Great. Pretty sure any job I have from here on out will beat working on a cruise ship, though.” He pulls at a string on my blanket until it comes loose in his fingers. He puts the string in his mouth and eats it.

“Do you suffer from pica?”

“What’s that?”

“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head.

He pats my leg, and the room grows awkwardly quiet. I sigh. “Are you here to talk about why I swallowed twenty-eight pills?”

Luck shrugs and then says, “Actually, I was going to ask you if you want any beef jerky yet. I still have half a tub in my room.”

I laugh. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

“But since you brought it up . . . are you okay?”

I roll my eyes and drop my head against the headboard. “Yes,” I say, slightly annoyed. Not annoyed that he’s checking on me, but annoyed that my behavior this week is embarrassing and I just want to forget it but I have a feeling no one is going to allow that. Especially my father and Sagan.

“Why’d you do it?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I was just exhausted and over it. And drunk.”

He starts unraveling another thread and then spins it between his fingers. “I tried to kill myself once,” he says nonchalant. “Jumped off the deck of a cruise ship into the water. I thought it was high up enough that I would hit the water and it would knock me out and I’d drown peacefully.”

“Did you drown peacefully?”