I dart my eyes to Keats, who pushes up to readjust on the couch. The hardening jaw and the tick of the muscle beneath reveal an underlying annoyance. When he doesn’t offer any more information, I ask, “Who’s Scarlet, Keats?”
He rubs his temple, but it seems more of a distraction than something that needs to be taken care of. Shooting his friend a glare, he slides his gaze back to me and says, “She’s a character in my book.” He holds my chin between his fingers, and his touch reassures me. Our souls bond so clearly through theconnection of our eyes. The love I see in his gaze helps ease the shame and makes everything feel better. “We should talk about it sometime in private.”
He doesn’t have to go into detail. But despite the curiosity that’s spinning faster than a busy hamster wheel, I nod. “I want to hear about your book.” I look at Michael with the joy that bubbles over for my incredible Poet. “He told you about the deal?”
“I’m trying not to be jealous.” He laughs. “I got low five figures on my recent work. This kid goes to auction for his debut novel.” Reaching forward, he taps the arm of the couch. “I may be jealous, but I’m also proud of you, Keats. It’s a brilliant story and deserves the attention it’s getting.” When he rests back again, he says, “Seeing a student succeed feels like a success of my own.”
Keats turns his way with a big grin on his face. It’s nice to see him interact with someone else, to see how he moves and talks with his friends. It’s similar to how he is with me but different at the same time. Everything with us feels so intimate that it’s easy to forget the rest of the world exists outside us. He laughs, and teases, “Is that what you have to tell yourself to justify the low pay?”
“Pretty much.” Michael stands, adjusting his pants by the belt. “I should go. This guy needs to rest.” He walks over to me to shake hands. While holding it, he adds, “It was nice to finally meet you, Sosie.”
“You, too.” I get up to walk him to the door as if this is my place. It’s not, but any place with Keats feels like home.
He shakes hands with Keats, wishing him a swift recovery before I follow him to the door. As soon as I shut it, I come to the edge of the living room, and ask, “Tell me what you need.”
“You. Naked. A blow job. Chocolate cake. Pasta. A glass of water?—”
“Okay. Okay. You rattled that off a little fast.” I laugh, returning to sit across from him again. “Are you hungry, thirsty, or want sex? Because truthfully, I’m up for any or all three.”
His hand rubs along the top of my thigh. “I knew I fell in love with you for a reason.”
Love?He fell in love and says it so casually now that it’s like it’s been expressed before. Sure, I feel it, and he’s made me feel no less than welcome and loved in his arms. But are we just saying it now with no buildup? No easing into a relationship? Jumping feet first and dealing with the consequences later? I don’t know what to think. I love him, but it’s too big an emotion to regulate just yet. I tap his nose gently. “I’m not so sure you should be partaking in some of those things.”
“It’s the pasta and cake, right?” he asks, chuckling as he drops his hand to his stomach and rubs his belly. “Because I’m not running.”
“Your workout routine isn’t something I’m worried about. You have muscles for days, and they’re not going away just because you’re laid up for a week or two.” I stand, but he catches my hand.
When I look back, the smile he wears that seems to come naturally falters. “How was the apartment?”
“Oh, um. Are you comfortable? Do you want to move back into bed?”
“Sosie? Look at me.” When I do, he says, “What happened?”
My gaze is drawn to the outside while my thoughts scramble to figure out what I want to say or how I should respond so that I don’t become a problem he has to solve. “We should talk about it.” I glance back at him. “After I get you what you need.” My fingers slip from his hand as I walk to the kitchen.
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
I stop, resting my weight on the palm of my hand that’s anchored to the countertop. With my back to him, I say, “It waspromising.” The earlier situation comes back to haunt me by gripping my throat. I try to clear it before I turn back to look at him, but I fail. “My credit cards have been cut off.” When I speak, the words are rough, leaving me raw and exposed to more embarrassment.
Anxiety builds in the silence as our eyes stay locked, and time extends between us.
Sitting more upright, he asks, “Is that why you brought your suitcases with you?”
My gulp is so loud that I worry all of New York state just heard it. “Yes.” My voice doesn’t reach the same volume and weakens as shame reenters the conversation. “I could have paid to go to another hotel, but I just needed to see you.”
He gets up. It’s slow but steady, his muscles working in waves to get him to his feet. Coming to me, he gets into my space and kisses my face. “I’m glad you came here.”
“You say that now.” My words rush carelessly out. “But I can’t barge into your life like this. I’d only be taking from you with nothing offered in return.”
That smile that was made for me settles into place where it belongs, and he says, “You give me everything, Spark. Life, a reason to breathe, you’re my muse, and . . .” Taking my hand between the two of his, he looks at me as if too impassioned to speak. His breath stumbles as if the words come too quickly to get off his chest. And then he pauses like a second thought has ruined it. But the soulful browns never leave mine until he kisses my temple. “You’re the one who got away and my biggest heartbreak.” It’s only whispered, but it’s out there for me and the universe to know and deal with, and causes my own heart to break in the aftermath.
Cupping my cheek, he catches my eyes as they start to water. “You’re not in this alone anymore. We’re a team, you and me.”When his hand grapples onto the side of the counter, he exhales slowly and closes his eyes. “I think I need to get in bed.”
Panic kicks in, but I stifle it as I wrap my arm carefully around him. “Let me help you.” As soon as I walk him to the bedroom and reach the bedside, he climbs in and gently lays his head down on the pillow.
“Stay with me, okay?” he asks, his eyes growing heavy like a storm just blew in.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I climb in next to him and mold to his side. As much as I want to rest my arm over him or entangle my legs, I resist the urge for his benefit. We lie minutes together, but his breathing is still even as if he’s still awake. “I failed,” I whisper. “I don’t care what my parents think of me, but I didn’t want to let you down.”
