“God, I’m sorry. So what did you do?”
“Everything. Chemo, radiation, stem cell transplant. They kept her in a glass box. To prevent infection. It was like being in a nightmare, and there was no waking up. She never came out of that box. I felt complete helplessness just watching her, not touching her, not kissing her, watching her fight all alone. She never complained, she was always smiling…you get dealt this shit hand, the least you can do is say FUCK YOU.”
“She wasn’t alone, you were there. And maybe she chose to fight, stayed positive for your sake.”
“Oh I know that’s what she did. So it was all a lie. Every day she would say she felt good when I could see her withering away.” He laughs. “She died in that glass box, my little virgin wife.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I left the city shortly after. It hurts to care that much for one person. She was so damn sweet, she didn’t deserve it. And when they’re no longer by your side, you’re fucked. It takes so much to build yourself back up. I promised myself I’d never, ever go through that again.”
“I can see how that would make it hard to connect with a woman that way.”
“Impossible.”
We sit in silence for a moment. I really don’t want to impose on any time of reflection that he might need, so I move to leave. But Tahoe has lightning-fast lacrosse player hands, and he quickly snatches my wrist and squeezes. “Hey. Stay.”
I look into his eyes with a growing heaviness in my chest.
There are fears in your life that neither you nor any man on this Earth can spare you from. Fears so deeply entrenched, there is no corner in your soul to hide, no way of escaping them. They grab you, own you, squeeze the life out of you, until you wake up sweating in the middle of the night, in tears, and you’re frantic to touch the ground beneath you because you still feel like you’re falling…and falling…a never-ending drop. Until a painfully hard surface breaks your fall.
That hard surface, for me, is Tahoe Roth.
But for the first time in my life, the need to comfort a man is far greater than any need I have for self-preservation. So I stay and entwine my fingers through his, setting my forehead against his as we close our eyes.
He whispers in my ear, dark with guilt, as if he’s confessing his worst offense ever, “I picture you in my bed.” He cups my face in one big palm and looks into my eyes.
“I’m here,” I whisper.
He laughs darkly and kisses my cheek. “That’s not what I meant.”
SPOONING
I’m being spooned when I wake up. I do a mental inventory and realize I’m in a soft bed next to something hard and that I’m in a pair of huge, thick arms and the one draped around my waist weighs about a ton.
I exhale and keep doing inventory.
Okay, so I’m still dressed.
And he’s bare-chested and with his jeans unbuttoned.
Which is kind of a big deal because I can feel…everything.
The kind of body that deserves to be in an underwear ad, and the kind of male…anatomy worthy of, well, porn.
I need to get out of here, but I’m afraid to move.
If I move, he could wake up. And I’ll have to stare him in the eye, and everything will be so awkward because…well, what now?
Exhaling, I take his wrist within my fingers, and it’s so thick I can only curl my fingers around halfway. I’m not breathing as I try to lift his arm off my body. He grunts and shifts his arm downward again, to grab my hip and spoon me even more.
And he’s…hard.
Fuck me. But I guess…he wants to do just that.
I’m in bed with him, and I’m trapped. There’s no escape. I should probably stay here, turn around, and get one lick down those perfect abs. Get one taste of the very cock that—in all honesty—will probably bruise me. He is fucking big and he is fucking hot. How would it be to have him giving it to me hard?
I’m getting wet.
Why did I even spend the night?
I start when I feel him shift me around. With those incredible blue eyes staring straight at me.
I hold my breath, and he raises his hand and curls his palm around my cheek.
I close my eyes, dreading that he will touch me anywhere else and that I won’t have the strength to make him stop.
Instead, the bed squeaks as he shifts his weight halfway on top of me, and he says in my ear, “I don’t see her in you.” I squeeze my eyes tighter shut as he goes on, his voice dark and almost threatening. “It’s been too many women this past year and in all of them I see you.”
He holds my face and the silence stretches, and I will myself to open my eyes to see blue, just blue, crackling and so alive—and so angry.
“You’re mad that I took her memory away? Keep her. Keep her memory alive if that’s what makes you happy.”
“It doesn’t.”
He brushes his thumb over my lipstick.
I let him. “If there’s anyone in this world who will understand you not being willing to go through that again, it’s me.”
“Do you really? Why are you driving me crazy then? Why do I need more women, more often? Why can’t I get you out of my skin?”
“You feel you’re being unfaithful if you slept with me because it wouldn’t be her.”
A mad muscle plays angrily in the back of his jaw.
“Oh wow.” I blink. “You just never know someone, do you? A ladies’ man like you, faithful to one girl.”
We hear noise downstairs in the kitchen.
“I better go. I don’t want them to assume that we…” I push at his chest and then hurry to go change. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” I say in a rush, and then stand at the door. “Tahoe.” I attempt a smile but it trembles on my face. “You were always honest that you couldn’t give me what I wanted but still…thank you for telling me.”