Only You
Page 50
She thought for a second. “I could meet you halfway. That might be easier. Then one of us isn’t driving three hours all the time.”
“Okay. Let’s plan on that. We can settle on a time this week.”
“Sounds good.” She paused. “I’m sorry again about how I handled the pregnancy and everything. I should have told you right away.”
“Let’s just move forward from here, okay? No sense in looking back.”
She gave me a smile. “Good idea.”
I opened the driver’s side door for her, and she got behind the wheel. But before closing it, she said, “Hey, Nate?”
“Yeah?”
“I know you said it was none of my business, but I wanted to say again that I think Emme is really nice. And I could tell she has feelings for you.”
I frowned and stared at the asphalt. Stuck my hands in my pockets.
“And Saturday night you seemed pretty miserable about the breakup. Is there any chance you could work it out?”
“I don’t think so,” I said with a shrug. “We don’t want the same things.”
“Okay, just thought I’d mention it. Have a good week.”
I didn’t have a good week. I had a shit week.
I did all the things I said I was going to do—let my landlord know I was looking to move out, contacted a real estate agent about finding a small house with a yard, went to the gym every night after work, and checked in with Rachel every day about Paisley. After work on Thursday, some of the single guys at the firm I used to hang around with asked me to go get a drink with them at Grey Ghost. We hung out at the bar for a while, talked up a group of women who were celebrating someone’s thirtieth birthday, and ended up getting one big table with them for dinner. One of the women was clearly interested in me, a leggy brunette, and spent the entire evening trying to let me know she was up for a good time.
I wasn’t even tempted. In fact, I was sort of repulsed.
All I could think about was that this was supposed to be fun, but it wasn’t. It was my old life—slightly adjusted—but it didn’t feel right. It was like trying to button a shirt you used to wear all the time but didn’t fit you anymore. It was too tight, you couldn’t breathe, and you realized you hated the pattern anyway.
I ended up throwing down some cash, making an excuse, and leaving the table early. It was a long walk to where I’d parked, but I didn’t mind. Hands in my pockets, I took my time and tried to think about what I could do to feel good again, or at least less miserable. Clearly, the answer wasn’t going back to work or spending more time at the gym.
When all my freedom had been abruptly taken away from me with Paisley’s arrival, I’d lamented the loss of it, but getting it back again only reminded me what I’d started to dislike about it before—I was lonely. Back then, I’d been too stubborn to admit that maybe meaningless sex wasn’t enough to satisfy the need to feel connected to another human being. And too scared to let myself feel anything for anyone beyond surface-level affection.
Then came Emme.
She was the first person who’d pushed me, with her irresistible combination of feisty and fragile, to go deeper. To let myself care. To let myself feel. Sex with her was better than it had ever been with anyone else because of that emotional connection. And the thought of having meaningless sex with someone else just for fun was abhorrent to me—I wouldn’t even have been able to do it. And I didn’t want to. I only wanted her.
My plan to forget her and embrace my old life wasn’t working. I missed her. I needed her. I ached for her.
I made up my mind. When I got home, I’d knock on her door. Even if she slammed the door in my face two seconds later, it would be worth it.
I had to see her.
Thirty minutes later, I stood in front of her door. My heart was beating way too fast. I straightened my hair and my tie. Checked my breath and my zipper. Took a deep breath.
Then I knocked.
And waited—nothing. I knocked again. No answer.
It was possible she was working tonight. She must have worked a lot all week, because I hadn’t seen her once. Or else she was trying to avoid me, which was totally possible.
I was about to knock again when I heard her laugh. I turned toward the elevator and saw her walking down the hall, her phone at her ear. It was like I’d been punched in the stomach—I couldn’t breathe.
“Yes, totally,” she was saying. “That sounds perfect. I’ll—” She’d spotted me and stopped walking. “Mia, can I call you back? Thanks. Bye.” She lowered her phone. Her expression said not amused. “What are you doing?”
I have no fucking idea. “I’m…I’m locked out,” I said.
“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Where’s Paisley?”
“With her mom. I let Rachel take her.” Immediately I felt guilty about it. “She had that fever and I didn’t know what I was doing…” I’d started to sweat. I wanted to take my suit coat off. “I thought she’d be better off with her mother.”
Emme looked at me for a moment before speaking. “You gave up too soon.”
“Emme—”
“Let me get your key,” she said, turning her back to me to unlock her door. She opened the door and went inside without inviting me in.
I went in anyway.
Her apartment was dark and I shut the door behind me, cutting off the light from the hall.
“Hey.” She spun to face me, backing up against the narrow console table to the right of the door. “What the hell are you—?”
I cut her off with a kiss, my hands clenching fistfuls of hair at the back of her head. My mouth opened over hers, my tongue slashing inside. She fought me at first, pushing against my chest with both hands. But her head slanted and her lips opened and her tongue reached for mine. I could feel the heat radiating off her body. Was it fury or desire?
I pulled my mouth off hers. Our breath mingled, quick and hot. “Do you hate me?” I whispered.
“Fuck you,” she seethed. Then she slapped me. Hard.
I kissed her again, crushing my lips to hers. Her fingers slid into my hair, her nails raking against my scalp. I reached down and hiked up her skirt, slipping my hands up the back of her thighs and shoving down her underwear. “Do you hate me?”
“Fuck you.” Her hands were at my belt. My zipper. My cock.
I lifted her up and set her on the table and she wrapped her legs around me. It felt familiar, fighting with her. Our kiss was a weapon, our mouths seeking to annihilate, consume, destroy.
I slid one finger inside her. Then two. She worked her hand up and down my cock, bit my bottom lip as I circled my thumb over her clit.
In the end it was she who decided, pulling me closer, placing me inside her.
I gave her an inch and stopped. She bit me again.
“You hate me,” I said, wishing she would just admit it. I wanted to hear it.
She reached around and grabbed my ass, pulling me all the way inside her so quickly my knees nearly gave out. Her lips moved against mine. “Fuck. You.”
I lost it all then—any ounce of control I still had left, which wasn’t much. I fucked her like it was a vendetta, like I had vengeance in my blood, like I hated her as much as I loved her.
And I did love her. God help me, I loved her and wanted her and needed her. She was mine, she was mine—that’s what I needed to prove. Her body answered to mine, her heart answered to mine, her soul answered to mine. We were together. We were one. We were inextricable.
We came together with the force of a nuclear blast. In fact, the only word I could think of as everything around us shattered was destroyed.
I was miserable without her. In pieces.
But what could I do?
When it was over, and reality sank in, I didn’t know what to say. I pulled out of her and she slid off the table, tugging her skirt down as I zipped up my pants. She wouldn’t look at me.
“Emme,” I began.
She looked at me sharply. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
“I wasn’t going to. I’m not sorry.”
“Neither am I.”
We glared at each other in the dark.
“Okay. Let’s plan on that. We can settle on a time this week.”
“Sounds good.” She paused. “I’m sorry again about how I handled the pregnancy and everything. I should have told you right away.”
“Let’s just move forward from here, okay? No sense in looking back.”
She gave me a smile. “Good idea.”
I opened the driver’s side door for her, and she got behind the wheel. But before closing it, she said, “Hey, Nate?”
“Yeah?”
“I know you said it was none of my business, but I wanted to say again that I think Emme is really nice. And I could tell she has feelings for you.”
I frowned and stared at the asphalt. Stuck my hands in my pockets.
“And Saturday night you seemed pretty miserable about the breakup. Is there any chance you could work it out?”
“I don’t think so,” I said with a shrug. “We don’t want the same things.”
“Okay, just thought I’d mention it. Have a good week.”
I didn’t have a good week. I had a shit week.
I did all the things I said I was going to do—let my landlord know I was looking to move out, contacted a real estate agent about finding a small house with a yard, went to the gym every night after work, and checked in with Rachel every day about Paisley. After work on Thursday, some of the single guys at the firm I used to hang around with asked me to go get a drink with them at Grey Ghost. We hung out at the bar for a while, talked up a group of women who were celebrating someone’s thirtieth birthday, and ended up getting one big table with them for dinner. One of the women was clearly interested in me, a leggy brunette, and spent the entire evening trying to let me know she was up for a good time.
I wasn’t even tempted. In fact, I was sort of repulsed.
All I could think about was that this was supposed to be fun, but it wasn’t. It was my old life—slightly adjusted—but it didn’t feel right. It was like trying to button a shirt you used to wear all the time but didn’t fit you anymore. It was too tight, you couldn’t breathe, and you realized you hated the pattern anyway.
I ended up throwing down some cash, making an excuse, and leaving the table early. It was a long walk to where I’d parked, but I didn’t mind. Hands in my pockets, I took my time and tried to think about what I could do to feel good again, or at least less miserable. Clearly, the answer wasn’t going back to work or spending more time at the gym.
When all my freedom had been abruptly taken away from me with Paisley’s arrival, I’d lamented the loss of it, but getting it back again only reminded me what I’d started to dislike about it before—I was lonely. Back then, I’d been too stubborn to admit that maybe meaningless sex wasn’t enough to satisfy the need to feel connected to another human being. And too scared to let myself feel anything for anyone beyond surface-level affection.
Then came Emme.
She was the first person who’d pushed me, with her irresistible combination of feisty and fragile, to go deeper. To let myself care. To let myself feel. Sex with her was better than it had ever been with anyone else because of that emotional connection. And the thought of having meaningless sex with someone else just for fun was abhorrent to me—I wouldn’t even have been able to do it. And I didn’t want to. I only wanted her.
My plan to forget her and embrace my old life wasn’t working. I missed her. I needed her. I ached for her.
I made up my mind. When I got home, I’d knock on her door. Even if she slammed the door in my face two seconds later, it would be worth it.
I had to see her.
Thirty minutes later, I stood in front of her door. My heart was beating way too fast. I straightened my hair and my tie. Checked my breath and my zipper. Took a deep breath.
Then I knocked.
And waited—nothing. I knocked again. No answer.
It was possible she was working tonight. She must have worked a lot all week, because I hadn’t seen her once. Or else she was trying to avoid me, which was totally possible.
I was about to knock again when I heard her laugh. I turned toward the elevator and saw her walking down the hall, her phone at her ear. It was like I’d been punched in the stomach—I couldn’t breathe.
“Yes, totally,” she was saying. “That sounds perfect. I’ll—” She’d spotted me and stopped walking. “Mia, can I call you back? Thanks. Bye.” She lowered her phone. Her expression said not amused. “What are you doing?”
I have no fucking idea. “I’m…I’m locked out,” I said.
“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Where’s Paisley?”
“With her mom. I let Rachel take her.” Immediately I felt guilty about it. “She had that fever and I didn’t know what I was doing…” I’d started to sweat. I wanted to take my suit coat off. “I thought she’d be better off with her mother.”
Emme looked at me for a moment before speaking. “You gave up too soon.”
“Emme—”
“Let me get your key,” she said, turning her back to me to unlock her door. She opened the door and went inside without inviting me in.
I went in anyway.
Her apartment was dark and I shut the door behind me, cutting off the light from the hall.
“Hey.” She spun to face me, backing up against the narrow console table to the right of the door. “What the hell are you—?”
I cut her off with a kiss, my hands clenching fistfuls of hair at the back of her head. My mouth opened over hers, my tongue slashing inside. She fought me at first, pushing against my chest with both hands. But her head slanted and her lips opened and her tongue reached for mine. I could feel the heat radiating off her body. Was it fury or desire?
I pulled my mouth off hers. Our breath mingled, quick and hot. “Do you hate me?” I whispered.
“Fuck you,” she seethed. Then she slapped me. Hard.
I kissed her again, crushing my lips to hers. Her fingers slid into my hair, her nails raking against my scalp. I reached down and hiked up her skirt, slipping my hands up the back of her thighs and shoving down her underwear. “Do you hate me?”
“Fuck you.” Her hands were at my belt. My zipper. My cock.
I lifted her up and set her on the table and she wrapped her legs around me. It felt familiar, fighting with her. Our kiss was a weapon, our mouths seeking to annihilate, consume, destroy.
I slid one finger inside her. Then two. She worked her hand up and down my cock, bit my bottom lip as I circled my thumb over her clit.
In the end it was she who decided, pulling me closer, placing me inside her.
I gave her an inch and stopped. She bit me again.
“You hate me,” I said, wishing she would just admit it. I wanted to hear it.
She reached around and grabbed my ass, pulling me all the way inside her so quickly my knees nearly gave out. Her lips moved against mine. “Fuck. You.”
I lost it all then—any ounce of control I still had left, which wasn’t much. I fucked her like it was a vendetta, like I had vengeance in my blood, like I hated her as much as I loved her.
And I did love her. God help me, I loved her and wanted her and needed her. She was mine, she was mine—that’s what I needed to prove. Her body answered to mine, her heart answered to mine, her soul answered to mine. We were together. We were one. We were inextricable.
We came together with the force of a nuclear blast. In fact, the only word I could think of as everything around us shattered was destroyed.
I was miserable without her. In pieces.
But what could I do?
When it was over, and reality sank in, I didn’t know what to say. I pulled out of her and she slid off the table, tugging her skirt down as I zipped up my pants. She wouldn’t look at me.
“Emme,” I began.
She looked at me sharply. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
“I wasn’t going to. I’m not sorry.”
“Neither am I.”
We glared at each other in the dark.
