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His face buried in my neck after, taking deep breaths to try to bring himself back down.
A similar battle was waging in my system as well, making my skin feel shaky, literally shaking, gently but unnervingly, making my arms hold him tighter, a little uncertain what the heck was going on.
"Let me up," Edison demanded, as softly as his voice could manage. Some strange whimpering sound escaped me at that, making him press up to run his lips gently over mine. "I'll be right back," he promised, pulling against my hold, then moving off the bed toward the bathroom.
In his absence, I forced my lazy limbs up the bed then under the covers, figuring maybe I was just cold.
Edison came back less than a minute later, flicking on one soft light somewhere near the door so I could finally see his gorgeous body as he moved to the side of the bed, then climbed under the covers.
As soon as he was settled, he reached for me, pulling me against his chest, squeezing.
"Aftershocks," he rumbled, his fingers drifting up my spine to toy with my hair as I took a deep breath, feeling it start to settle the odd shaking.
Aftershocks.
What an appropriate term.
"Hear the best way to get rid of them is to stay exactly where you are, and then sleep," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Then, just to make sure they're gone, you need to get up and have pancakes with me."
"Pancakes, huh?" I asked, feeling my lips curving up, a motion that was so unfamiliar that the muscles actually hurt.
"Afraid they are the only way to ensure you won't randomly have a resurgence," Edison went on, pleading his case.
"Well," I heard myself conceding. "I mean, if chocolate chip pancakes are the cure, I guess I can suffer through it."
"Chocolate chips, huh?" he asked, reaching to drag the blankets up higher over my suddenly chilled skin.
"The only kind of pancakes worth having," I agreed. "Topped with some whipped cream instead of syrup? With a side of breakfast potatoes and a huge coffee? Oh yeah."
"Skip the gym just once," he half-asked, half-demanded. "I'll get you your food, and coffee, and maybe we can just hang out some more."
"For what purpose?" I heard myself ask, knee-jerk, then winced, not wanting to kill what was a nice moment.
"Purpose?" he asked, and I could feel his beard brushing my hair as he shook his head. "Because you'd like it," he went with. "You can try to convince me - and even yourself - that you have no interest, but deep down we both know that isn't the case. You fight me on it because you want it too much, you think, for it being so soon."
"It's nothing to do with how soon it is," I objected, though there was likely at least a bit of that.
"What do you think is gonna happen if you let me in, Lenny?"
That was a good question.
I didn't have a good answer.
I couldn't exactly tell you why I was the way I was other than it being a cocktail of negative experiences with men, and male and female relationships thanks to my mother.
"How about, just this once, instead of just thinking it, you tell me."
He made it sound so easy.
To open up.
It wasn't.
It was so fucking hard to trust.
But just this once, just this night, with this man, for a short period of time, maybe I could try.
What did I think would happen if I let him in?
"I think I will come to get used to you being in."
There. It was out there.
"And that would be so bad because?"
Oh, here was the kicker.
"Because you never stay."
"You, who?"
I took a deep breath, holding it for a second, then releasing it.
"Men."
There was so long of a pause before his arm squeezed me that I felt my stomach swirling ominously.
"Love, you're not your mother."
There was a long silence again, allowing his words to sink in. I knew I wasn't my mother. But there was always a fear that with one stupid move, I could be like her. I could allow my life to revolve around a man and whether he favored me that week or not.
"And I'm not the men who dicked her - and you - over."
"To be fair, they weren't all bad," I admitted. "Some were genuinely good men who got duped into being with her."
"Good men, huh? And yet you can't trust one goddamn man, Lenny. Something tells me your view of what makes a man good or not is warped."
I shrugged a shoulder "They were decent. Even showed a little interest in me sometimes. But—"
"No, we're gonna go right back to that one," Edison cut me off. "A good fucking man doesn't 'show a little interest sometimes' in the child of a woman he is dating. Sorry, but if you're involved with a woman who has a kid, you're either all in, or you need to get the fuck out."
