“That’s none of your business! I don’t owe you a response every time you reach out. We are not in a relationship. You don’t own me. You don’t get to show up at my apartment because I didn’t text you back fast enough.”
I was yelling now. Standing in the middle of my living room with my purse still on my shoulder and my keys still in my hand, yelling at a man who was sitting on my sofa looking at me like my anger was entertainment.
“You done?” he asked.
“No, I’m not done! This is exactly what my therapist was talking about. She said—” I stopped myself. I wasn’t about to repeat Janelle’s words to him. That was between me and my therapy.
“She said what?”
“Nothing.”
“Your therapist said something about me and now you’re not answering texts and you’re standing there looking at me like I’m the enemy. What did she say?”
“She didn’t say anything about you specifically. She just said that I might not be ready to—” I waved my hand vaguely because I couldn’t finish that sentence without sounding like I was breaking up with someone I wasn’t even officially with. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if it’s the reason you’re shutting me out.”
“I’m not shutting you out. I’m thinking. I’m allowed to think, Quest. I’m allowed to process my feelings without you showing up at my door demanding an explanation.”
He stood up from the sofa. Slowly. The way he moved when he was about to say something he meant with his whole chest. He walked toward me and I held my ground because I was not about to back up in my own apartment.
“You wanna know what I think?” he said, stopping about a foot away from me. Close enough that I could smell him. That goddamn cologne that had been living in my dreams rent-free since the parking lot. “I think you’re scared. I think the other night meant something to you and it freaked you out. I think your therapist told you something that gave you permission to run and you grabbed it with both hands because running is what you know.”
“Don’t tell me what I know.”
“I think you’ve been taking care of yourself for so long that you don’t know how to let somebody else do it. And when I try, you fight me. When I show up, you push back. When I give you something good, you look for the catch because every man before me had one.”
“Stop.”
“I’m not them, Mehar.”
“I said stop.”
“I’m not your father. I’m not your exes. And I’m not going anywhere because you didn’t text me back.”
I was shaking. My hands, my jaw, my shoulders, all of me trembling because he was right and I hated that he was right and I hated that this man could see through me. My eyes were stinging and my chest was tight and I was so angry and so tired of being angry and so tired of being scared of every good thing that tried to get close to me.
“I’m terrified,” I whispered. And I hadn’t meant to say it out loud but there it was, hanging between us like a confession.
“I know you are.” His voice dropped to something low and warm. “I’m terrified too. You think this is easy for me? I haven’t let anybody in since—” He stopped. Clenched his jaw. Started again. “I haven’t let anybody in for a long time. And you scare the shit out of me because you’re the first person I’ve wanted to try for. So yeah, I picked your lock. And yeah, I’m standing in your apartment uninvited. Because you went quiet on me. You’re mine. And if you disappear on me again, we gon’ have a serious problem.”
I looked at him and kissed him.
I grabbed his face with both hands and pulled his mouth to mine and kissed him with all the fear and the want and the fury and the confusion I’d been carrying since Janelle’s couch. He caught me, one hand on my waist, the other on the back of my neck, and he kissed me back with something that felt like relief.
The kiss got deeper and his hands got lower and mine got bolder and somewhere between the living room and the hallway my purse hit the floor and my keys hit the floor and his jacket was off and my top was over my head and he was pressing me against the wall of my hallway with his mouth on my neck and my fingers in his hair.
“I’m still mad at you,” I breathed against his ear.
“Be mad.” He bit down softly on my collarbone and I made a sound that contradicted everything I’d just said. “Be furious. Be whatever you need to be. I’m still not leaving.”
He scooped me up and carried me to the sofa because the bedroom was too far and neither of us had the patience to make it down the hall. He laid me back against the leather and pulled my leggings off in one motion, underwear with them, and he was on his knees on the floor in front of the couch before I could process the transition from fighting to this.
“Quest, we were in the middle of an argument?—”
“And now we’re in the middle of something else.” He spread my thighs apart with both hands and looked at me, his eyes dark and locked on mine. “You can go back to being mad at me after. Right now I need you to lay back and let me apologize.”
“Apologize for what?”
