I hear his footsteps on the stairs as I make my way to the living room with our plates. I take my usual place on the floor across from him, while he sits down in sweats and a T-shirt. His hair is still damp from the shower, and I drink him in. Eye fucking him when he’s not paying attention has become my favorite torturous pastime. Yep, that’s me. When you look uppathetic in the dictionary, you see a picture of me, and if you tilt the book side to side you can even see me wave.
Zayne digs in like a man starved, downing half of the piece in two bites. Closing his eyes, he moans in delight. Jesus. I swear he’s trying to kill me. Does he not realize how badly I wanna climb over the fucking table and devour him?
When he opens his eyes, he cocks his head as if he’s studying me. I blink the thoughts away and realize that I’m just sitting there, my fork in the air, a piece of lasagna hanging half off my plate that fell from said fork, with my mouth open.
Zayne smiles at me as I look down, cursing at myself for the mess I’ve made. I grab my paper towel to clean it up.
“What?” His beautiful smile is too adorable, and I feel my cheeks heat up.
“Just never seen a foodgasm live before,” I say, diverting my eyes from his.
“You make a meal like this again, and you better get used to it,” he says, as he takes a bite of garlic bread.
I laugh, shaking my head at him.
After dinner, we make our way back to the couch. Taking a seat near him, I watch the TV as he starts sifting through channels. When he stops the channel on “The Lost Boys”, I perk up, putting my hand on his.
He looks over at me, puzzled.
“Please tell me you like this movie,” I stress with an eager grin.
“Maggots, Micheal, you’re eating maggots.” He smiles.
I bounce a little in excitement and tuck my legs underneath me, getting comfortable.
Zayne
It’s so damn hard to sit next to her and keep my hands to myself. I’m trying to concentrate on the movie, but every time she’s near me like this, I’m like a damn schoolboy on a first date. Do I want to punch myself for putting a stupid fucking boundary in place, a line we can’t cross? The answer would be yes, yes, the fuck I do. For the last few weeks, we’ve sat here talking, laughing, and watching movies, but over time it gets harder and harder to keep that line in place.
I swear I can talk to her for hours and it only feels like minutes. It could be about anything. Our communication flows so freely, and the other night, I almost confessed everything to her. The black hole of guilt consumes me. But it wouldn’t be fair of me to do that to her. She’s just getting comfortable about everything going on. I don’t want to add to the list of problems.
Lost in my thoughts, I feel a soft weight on my shoulder. Looking down, I see Myssa, fast asleep, leaning on me. I stroke her hair out of her face and watch her breathing as her head becomes heavier the deeper in sleep she becomes.
God, she’s beautiful, and there’s not one thing I’d change about her. Something has to give: I can’t do this much longer. I need her. I need to worship her in all the ways I have dreamed about every night. To fully be able to love her the way I was meant to. I don’t want this moment to end, and I’ll take whatever small pieces I can steal.
I twist myself to lay her down on the couch, her head resting on a pillow while I slid in behind her. I take the throw blanket off the top of the couch and cover both of us. Maybe a toe over the line is ok I tell myself as I wrap my arm around her waist, closing my eyes as I let sleep take over.
Chapter 28
Myssa
Today is the big day. The concert I still know nothing about. Two days ago, I’d woken up in Zayne’s arms on the couch, and if it wasn’t for my bladder protesting, I would have stayed like that for the whole day. We never talked about it, just moved on like nothing ever happened. When I got up, and his warmth was no longer sheltering me, the emptiness of it all sunk in.
These mixed signals are not helping. But I don’t know what else to do. We’re all sitting here on pins and needles, waiting for Jasper’s next move. Sipping my coffee this morning, I look out from the balcony by Zayne’s office to see that the dance floor has been removed to have general admission standing. My last-ditch effort to find out who it is blocked once again by Knox as he stands next to me. He’s like a damn vault, refusing to budge.
“No, Myssa, Zayne would have my balls if I spilled,” he says to me, going over a checklist on his iPad.
“But, Knooooox.” I whine, trying to learn over to look at what he’s doing. Whoever made the privacy screen should be cursed.
Knox moves over a little, his face deadpan, as if he can’t be bothered with my antics today.
I hear a laugh behind me and snap back to find Vix making her way up the stairs toward me, coffee in one hand, and her backpack slung on the opposite shoulder.
“Dude, it’s a few hours. Trust us when we say it’s worth the wait.” She sips her drink.
“How the hell did you sway Vix to get here so early?” I look between Knox and Vix. Zayne’s office door opens, and he stops to see the three of us standing there.
“Stop harassing my employees.” Zayne laughs as he steps around Knox to look over the balcony at the progress of the last-minute staging.
