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“Because we have.”

Sort of.

6

NATALIA

The 2000s called…it wants you back

“Explain yourself.”

Rennix fumbles his words a bit before landing on, “It’s complicated.”

“Okay, uncomplicate it for me then.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Who are you, Allie from The Notebook?”

He scrunches his brows.

“We watched that movie together before you…” Left? Disappeared? Ran away? Died? “…came here,” I settle for. “Did you not pay attention?” Do you not remember?

I don’t know why I’m harping on this. It’s not like it’s a favorite movie of mine. But I guess it’s sentimental since it was the last movie we watched together before, you know, everything went to shit.

“I did. I was just…” His voice trails off as I move closer. Rennix’s back has been turned to me for the entirety of this conversation, and now his hands are cupped on either side of his forehead, creating a shield. I inadvertently brush up against his arm and I swear it’s like he grew another inch or two from the way his posture straightens at the contact.

“Sorry,” I say out of habit, and take a step back.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m just…”

Just what? What?! Talk to me, damn it! I may not fully understand how this is all happening just yet or why we’re here, but it’s obvious he’s been through a lot. I should be patient and bite my tongue…even if it bleeds in the process. But I swear, if he doesn’t speed this up soon, I don’t know how long I can maintain that level of patience.

“I’m sorry, I’m having a really difficult time concentrating with you like that.”

It dawns on me…I’m an idiot. A naked idiot. I look down at my bare nipples. No wonder he froze when I got close. My nipple practically got to second base with him. Rennix has always been shy and slightly—to put it lightly—awkward. Though above all he’s always been a gentleman, and not in a holier-than-thou sort of phony way.

Nope. Not Rennix. He’s always been conscious of respecting boundaries and apparently allowing himself to let his gaze wonder my naked body is a boundary he’s not willing to cross.

Even though I wish he’d drink me in the way I’ve craved for longer than I should admit, I find him and all his awkwardness endearing.

For someone who freaked out, all embarrassed that I landed here naked, I’m sure taking a long time to rectify that. I rush over to the clothing rack behind me, grabbing a My Chemical Romance T-shirt and a black skirt, and throw them on.

“I’m dressed. You can turn around now.”

He does and I have immediate regret now that the initial shock has worn off and I have an opportunity to really take him in as we stand face to face.

While I was distracted by being dropped into a nameless store with clothing options reminiscent of what I used to wear as a teen, Rennix took the opportunity to get redressed, and the outfit he chose is doing more than I think he realizes.

The all-black button-up shirt he has cuffed at the middle of his forearms, highlights the tattoos he’s acquired since I’ve seen him last. Not to mention the sea of veins protruding from his arms and down to his very veiny, very large hands. I swallow harshly, suddenly realizing something about myself. I think I can add veins and hands to my kink list because both—especially on him—are doing things to me that I didn’t think something as obscure as, well, veins and hands could do. And then there’s the matching black thin strapped leather harness he has over the top. It makes his shoulders appear even broader than they have become.

I’ve always found him handsome. Aside from his timid charm, intellect, and his overall appeal, he has always checked all the boxes for me. Tall, easily a foot if not more over my five-foot-four frame. Chiseled facial features. Jet-black hair that perfectly frames his face since it’s not too short or too long. And his dark brown eyes that somehow feel intensified by the set of thick black framed glasses he’s always worn. But now this new and improved, more muscular, tatted up but still nerdy version of him? It’s what wet dreams are made of.

“I remember.”

It takes me a moment to pause the porno playing in my head featuring all the filthy things I want to do with him to realize he’s referring to the movie.

“Forget that, it’s fine.” I try waving my hand at him but in a shocking, albeit nice turn of events, he closes the gap between us and places a hand on my lower back, pulling me in closer. I nearly lose my footing in the process, but all is forgiven when he moves his other hand to my chin, tipping it upward.