I laugh because she could feed me poison and I’d still eat it.Fuck, I’d even thank her for it with my dying breath. And yet, she says I’m not a romantic. The thing is, the romance is only directed to her, not anybody else.
“You're just gonna stare at me all day. Or do you have something better to do?” My girl has a way with words. That fiery tongue and quick wit is enough to make me want to turn her and smack her plump ass until it’s red and stinging. The urge becomes unbearable to manage when she smiles, a mischievous curve of her lips that holds as much venom as it does amusement. I push away from the frame, stepping further into the kitchen, my fingers trailing along the edge of the white counter as I move closer to her. “Can I help?”
She gives me a sceptical look but shrugs and hands me a cutting board and a tomato. “Fine, but don’t cut yourself. I'm not in the mood to play nurse today,” she retorts, focusing back on her chopping. Her hair cascades down to her shoulders, a veil of black waves that obscures part of her face from my view.
“Want me to pick up your hair?” It was a rhetorical question, so I don’t wait for her to answer before I’m behind her, my hand grabbing her hair and braiding it messily because I don’t know what I’m doing. I just want to help keep hair from her face and the food. I bite back the urge to comment or smile when she stiffens slightly when my fingers touch her scalp.
“I don’t know why you’re doing that. You’re atrocious at it,” she snaps back, even though I feel her lean into me. A small movement that sends blood rushing straight into my cock.
“It gets the job done, no hair in the food nor on your face,” I quip with a shrug, backing away from her, and taking my place on the counter beside her. Grabbing the round tomato, slicing into it with practiced ease. Doing this alwaysbrings me back to when we were young. Always helping around the kitchen. Pretending I had any real interest in cooking just so I could be beside her. There’s a comfortable silence between us as we work side by side. The sound of knives hitting the chopping boards.
“How are things with Lex?” She asks, breaking the silence. I stop dead in my tracks and shoot her an annoyed look. “Out of all the things we could talk about. Alexa, is what you choose?”
She sighs, using the top of her hand to brush away hair that falls on her eyes. “She’s my best friend, Iz, and your situationship is hurting her.”
I grab the onion next, trying my best not to misplace my annoyance. “She’s a big girl, Ronnie. She knows the deal. I’m not playing with her emotions. Nobody is forcing her. She wants this. What can I say? It’s easy. No strings. Just fucking. If it’s not her, it's gonna be someone else.”
Ronnie shakes her head, her lips pressing together in a taut line. “It’s not fair to her, Iz, it really isn’t.” Her words are firm, almost biting. “You’re being a total asshole to her.”
I pause for a moment, my grip on the onion tightening involuntarily. I hate when she’s right. The problem is that she is the woman I want, and no one will ever be enough because no one is her. “Listen, I know she’s your friend, but our arrangement is strictly dickly. Nothing more.”
“Strictly dickly?” Ronnie scoffs, her steel eyes rolling dramatically before she refocuses on chopping a cucumber with more force than necessary. The sight makes me grimace, picturing the same thing she might be envisioning at this very moment. “Have you always been this eloquent, Iz?”
My wince quickly fades, and now I’m fighting for my life to bite back a grin. “You know me, Veronica, I’m a poet at heart.” I give her a wink, but she doesn’t laugh at my joke. Instead, she glares, pointing the knife at me. “Grow up. We aren’t children anymore.” I step closer, not the smartest thing I’ve done, but I digress. “You’d like my arrangement if you gave it a try.”
“Seriously, Iz,” She rolls her eyes while releasing a loud breath. “Maybe give it a shot. It’s been years… You can’t possibly feel anything towards her.” She counters by changing the subject and shutting me out once again.
I sigh, going back to chopping the onion in front of me. “I can’t, Veronica. Trust me, if I could, it would have happened already. Damn it, why are you always so quick to meddle in other people’s business?”
Ronnie returns her focus to the cutting board. “She’s my friend, Iz. She’s hurting.” She moves with precision as she finishes assembling the salad. Irritation takes hold no matter how much I try to shake it off. I can’t. Inhaling through my nose, I take a deep breath. “So are you and so am I, but who cares?”
“What the fuck, Isaac? It’s been years…”Her voice breaks, and with it, my heart. By my better judgement I should just the fuck it up and leave it alone. I don’t.
“I did grow up, and still, I can only offer sex, not my heart. That belongs to you,” I confess, speaking directly to the woman I love. Her eyes slowly lift to mine, and the softness in her grey eyes is undeniable. “It’s been years, and I’m still stuck in that god damn sandbox,” I add, as she remains silent, quickly breaking our eye contact before returning to her salad. I’m so tired of this shit—tired of always being the one to chase her, to keep things together, to let her run every time it gets hard because I love her.
I’m exhausted by this push and pull, loving her fiercely yet watching her slip through my fingers whenever things get real. My common sense fails me, only leaving me with the impulse that I no longer control. Grabbing her hand, I spin her around so she can face me. See her truth reflected within my eyes.
“Iz, what the fuck,” she snaps, shoving me back. “Don’t do this to me.” Her voice trembles, her eyes are glossy with unshed tears, and a pang of guilt cuts through me, sharp and unforgiving. I hate seeing her like this. It’s even worse knowing I’m the reason she’s breaking.
“Do what?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper, barely holding together.
“This! What you’re doing!” She gestures wildly between us, her hand slicing through the air as if she could cut through everything unsaid. “You keep holdingon, but it just makes me feel… trapped. And I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be what you need.”
“Ronnie.”
She holds her hand up. “No, Iz.”
I reach out again, wrapping my fingers around her delicate wrist. I can feel the heat of her skin, the tremors of her body as I pull her towards me. “We’re not children. You’re not my sister, and I will never see you as that. Not sure if you got the memo, but I’m more than happy to remind you.”
As the words tumble from my mouth, I regret them. I went too far, and the way she reacts confirms it. A gasp escapes her lips. Her eyes widen in shock before she pulls her wrist free from my grip as though it burned her.
“You crossed a line, Iz,” she breathes out. “Grow up, Isaac,” she snaps. “I’m in a relationship, respect Max. Respect Alexa. For god sake, respect me.”
I don’t think, even though I should. I just act. Cupping the back of her neck, I kiss her. Crashing my mouth into hers, ignoring her fumbled protests that spill from her lips or her hands that push against my chest. She gives in without even noticing, her body melts into mine as we deepen the kiss. It’s deep, passionate and a desperate attempt to show her that I mean every word I have said. Her arms briefly wrap around my neck as she responds to me before pulling back again.
“Iz… stop!” she gasps. “Nixie is there. Someone could see us. Fuck.”
I laugh, and I know I shouldn’t. It’s just not in me to care. I’ve been selfless for so long. “And what, Ronnie? We're two consenting adults who love each other, fucking kissing.” Tears gather in her eyes as she wipes her lips of any evidence of us. Shaking her head with disdain. “Damn you, Iz!” she seethes, pushing me away from her. “You don’t just go around kissing someone because you feel like it!”
