My body betrays me by purring like a kitty.
“We can’t.” I study my lap. “I was thinking about that. Because of last time.” I’m thirsty. “This time should be different.” Very thirsty. “Slower. We should…”Talk about your child.“Go slow.”
He fights a smile. “Slower than eight years?”
Despite my nerves, I laugh. “Yes.”
I’m prepared for him to fight me, for him to tell me all the ways I’m being ridiculous and how badly he wants to touch me. I’ll resist. I have to. We can’t get in any deeper until he knows everything, and I’m not ready to ruin us by telling him.
How rational.
When he says, “Okay,” I’m thrown. Because okay is categorically not a fighting word. Maybe he’s having doubts. That sets off a whole new round of what-ifs.
“Okay,” I echo.
He stands with a sigh. “But will you at least sleep with me?”
Sleep. I can manage that.
Maybe.
I follow him to his bedroom, almost convincing myself this will be fine. I’ll make it through this night, tell him about Bennie tomorrow, and we will be good. But when Frank plants his ass in the doorway and Nash slams the door in his face, the air becomes charged and feels anything but fine.
It feels intimate.
Intimate enough, even the long shadows stretching across the bedroom walls from the small lamp look like sex.
Nash steps in front of me and runs his fingers through my damp hair. “You’re nervous.”
I let out a shaky exhale.
“Maybe.”
“It’s just sleep,” he says. “Just us.”
Just us.
He unbuttons his shirt, slipping it off along with his shorts, then stands in the middle of the room wearing only his boxers.
I stare. Overcome. Not by how perfect Nash looks, but by how much I still love him.
It defies logic.
We only had three months together eight years ago, but that was all it took for me to hand myself over to him for the rest of my life.
All I want to do is kiss him. Touch him. Be close enough to him I embed myself so deeply in his skin that I can never be removed.
This might be a disaster.
He tugs at a strap on my overalls, smirks, and says, “You can’t sleep in these.” He undoes one strap, then the other, the click of each buckle sending chills down my arms.
When they drop to the floor, I regret my underwear choice, but as I stand in my T-shirt and mismatched socks, Nash looks at me like I’m a sight to behold.
Nash.
Right here. Waiting for me after all these years.
The enormity of that burns my eyes. Instead of reaching for him, I crawl into bed.
