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Fuck, even with all this makeup, I look as washed out and vacant as I feel.
My heels are more awkward than usual. My legs are jelly. It takes great concentration just to walk into the kitchen.
"Hey," I whisper.
"Hey," he whispers back. His eyes meet mine. For a split second, they fill with something luminous. Then they're dark, and he's staring at his coffee. He motions to the kettle. "It should still be warm."
"Thank you." I move into the kitchen and fix a cup of tea, but I'm going through the motions. The water is steaming.
It's hot enough to scald, but it feels like nothing on my tongue.
It tastes like nothing.
Joel, is this what you want?
Joel, tell me what you're thinking.
Joel…
Fuck, I don't know what to say here. My thoughts are going in circles. In my head, the divorce still makes sense.
But in my heart…
Joel fills his mug with coffee from the carafe. Still, he doesn't look at me.
I'm only barely managing to look at him. His eyes are filled with frustration, but he's not tense. Not exactly. His shoulders and jaw are soft.
He accepts this.
Is it what he wants or is he only barely tolerating it?
I won't know unless I ask.
But when I try, the words won't get out.
My mouth is dry. Finishing my cup of tea doesn't help.
I can't bring myself to ask. Hell, I can't manage to find any words much less get them off my lips.
I sit on the stool next to Joel's.
He turns towards me. Finally, he meets my gaze. "You want me to make eggs?"
My stomach is spinning. Food might help, but I'm not willing to risk it. "No thanks."
"We'll leave in twenty." He slides off his stool. "I should get dressed."
"Sure." I press my palms into my thighs. As much as I appreciate Joel in a pair of boxers, I have to agree that he should put on slacks and a collared shirt.
The thought of him in a suit does something to me. It makes it hard to remember we're heading to our divorce.
It fills my head with images of stripping Joel out of his suit, of binding his wrists with his tie and forcing him to watch me touch myself, of need filling his green eyes.
The reality of Joel in a suit is a hundred times better than my mental image. The slate fabric brings out the grey in his eyes. His one shade darker tie does too. It would look so perfect around his wrists. Or mine. Honestly, I don't care. I just want his body pressed against mine again.
I just want his eyes filling with desire.
With his hair neatly combed, and his suit covering most of his tattoos, Joel really does look like a nice guy I could bring home to Dad.
