I’m angry at him for closing up again and refusing to talk to me, but this was the confirmation I needed to finally just let him go, or I guess, the chance of him.
It’s clear now that he enjoys the flirtation between us, but wants nothing more than that. It hurts, and I’m insanely embarrassed. Being forced to be around him right now feels like someone is tugging a rib bone out through my sternum.
Even if the butterflies in my stomach won’t stop doing that annoying thing they do anytime he’s around me.
His hand touches my thigh, and it feels like fireworks are about to burst out of my skin. I sit up quickly and turn on the flashlight on my phone. My music is still playing as I look down at him, not bothering to hide the streaks that the tears have left on my face.
His hair looks damp, and he’s changed into new clothes. I hate that even though he doesn’t want me, I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I haven’t been able to escape these feelings towards him, even running all the way to New York, he was always there, digging his own hole in my soul.
“Phoebe…” he whispers as he sits up, making the distance between our mouths only about a foot apart. I watch in fascination as he licks his lips, and glances down at my own before making his way back to my eyes. “I’m sorr–” I place my finger over his lips, silencing him.
I may not ever have his heart the way I want it, but right now I don’t want to hear his apology. I don’t need it. I know where we stand and as much as it hurts, I’m going to just have to force my heart to get in line.
But I also don’t want to fight any longer, and I can’t keep ignoring this tension between us anymore. If this is the one chance I get, I don’t want to waste it by talking.
And I’m dying to know what he tastes like.
I reach behind me and grab the bottle of whiskey I’ve been curled up with since I left him at the fire, and I take another long swig of it. I offer it to him, and he takes it with the hand not gripped on my thigh. He places the bottle to his mouth, and tips the bottle slowly so I can see his throat working to swallow the cinnamon liquor.
He hands the bottle back to me, my fingers are shaking as I work to screw the cap on tightly, before placing it behind me again.
The edges of the world are fuzzy, and I’m relishing in the warmth that is a constant in my body from the alcohol, while also relishing in the desire pooling in his eyes as he gazes at me.
We may not be meant to be each other's happily ever after, but what’s stopping us from making this our own version of it?
A version that fits us, and only us.
‘Back to December’ is playing softly from my phone, and in the words of Ms. Swift, this is me swallowing my pride.
I lean forward and press my lips gently to his.
I wait for him to push me away, or to pull himself away, but that doesn’t happen. Instead he reaches up and cups the side of my face with his hand, and pulls me closer. Kissing me back just as fiercely as I’m kissing him.
Every thought I had prior to this empties from my head.
There is only this.
Us.
Fireworks explode around us as I open my mouth for him, teasing his tongue with my own. He tastes like cinnamon, and I think that it might just be my new favorite flavor. My hands grip the front of his shirt, pulling him tighter against me as I move to straddle his lap, never breaking contact with his lips. His moan reverberates throughout my entire body when I press myself closer to him, tugging him nearer, until there’s no space between us except for the barrier of our clothing.
Remember that thing I said about not falling for him?
Well it’s officially too damn late.
His kiss destroys me, leaving a Spencer shaped hole where my heart used to be.
And I don’t care, I’ll suffer those consequences later. Right now all I need is more. More of him, more of this. More of whatever this is between us.
Reaching down, I tug his shirt up, it’s only when I try to pull it over his head that we finally break our kiss. I toss his shirt over my head and run my fingers slowly over his bare chest. I knew he was fit, but my goodness I didn’t realize he was in this great of shape. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’s a secret underwear model as a side job.
Before I go any further, Spencer grabs my hands gently with his own, stopping me and forcing me to finally look at him. His eyes are gleaming with an emotion that I don’t recognize, but it’s more than clear that he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
So why is he stopping me?
“Phoebe,” his voice sounds deeper than normal, and his breathing ragged. “I just need to say something before this escalates.”
I squeeze his hands tight, dread already pooling in my stomach. I told myself that I was okay with this, okay with it just being something physical for tonight. But, I don’t think my ego can handle him confirming that’s all he wants too.
