His brows furrow. “I take it back. Sounds like a shit time.”
I hold out my hands as if to say,told you.
“I’m assuming that you sayingfuck itand not going is not an option?” he asks.
“Listen, I’m really trying not to cause Armageddon over a birthday party.”
He laughs. “So, you want to walk into this party feeling …”
Invisible?I frown at how quickly that word came to mind. It’s been my objective of every party I’ve attended since my teenage years. The less you’re seen and the less you say, determines the potential fallout.
But that’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to be invisible. I want to be seen,as me, and I want to be comfortable whether that’s accepted or not.Whether it disappoints others or not.
My breath wavers as I suck it in, unsure of what’s going to come out of my mouth.
“Those parties fill me with self-doubt,” I say, drifting my fingers across my right thigh. “I feel like I’m at their mercy. I’ve always played my part no matter what it cost me. And it’s not like I don’t want to celebrate my father, because I do. I want to be there for my parents because these things matter to them. But I want to show up and not care what anyone says or thinks, and with a strong voice when I need it.”
“You should always have a strong voice,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” I bring my hand back to the table as an old memory crawls up my neck—half humiliation, half anger. “But sometimes I forget that or can’t find it.”
He starts to speak but stops just short of uttering a word. Instead, he sits up, resting his elbows on the tabletop and watches me.
“As you can tell, I’m tired of doing things other people’s way,” I say, meeting his gaze, challenging him. A burst of power—a sensation that’s new but so welcome—has me lifting my chin.
“This time is different.”
“I’d love to know how.”
“Because I’m going to give you exactly what you want. But I’m going to do it carefully.”
A chill slides down my spine, and I shiver without meaning to. The heat of his stare, mixed with the nonchalance of his tone and definitive words are an intoxicating mixture.“I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”
“You’re the kind of girl who levels my world,” he says smoothly. “And I’m the kind of man who decimates yours. We can do this and it can be a ten-star experience, but we have to do it in a controlled manner or else …”
“Or else what?”
His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile that nestles into my core. “Or else you’re going to walk into that party having been fucked every which way for the last few days and have learned nothing about yourself other than how to come.”
Oh, my stars.
“I don’t think that’s all you’re after,” he says, sitting back.
He watches me with a lifted brow, as if he knows I can’t argue his point—and like he knows that my insides are in a state of complete and utter chaos. My heart beats in places I didn’t know could be felt. I’m so wet for him that I regret not wearing panties. He’s right, and I hate that he’s right and I can’t argue with him.
“Let’s start slow,” he says. “Meet me tonight at Alfie’s Gym at nine o’clock.”
“Why?”
“I think it’ll behoove us to start with self-defense.” He gets up and gathers our trash. “You might need to fight me off later.”
I nod, blinking rapidly. “I highly doubt that.”
He laughs.
I watch him dispose of our garbage and rinse our glasses in the sink. Then he pops them into the dishwasher like it’s a simple moment of domesticity. Like it’s a scene out of a movie—except it’s not. This moment is neither simple nor ordinary. The camera couldn’t capture the electricity zipping around the room, looking for ground.
“I’ll see you tonight then,” he says, coming over to me.
