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Did Alicia really just proposition me?
And am I really standing here like an idiot because I don’t know what to do next?
I need her.
Want her.
I’m craving every bit of her body, heart, and soul, and she’s handing me herself on a silver platter.
Making a silent promise to myself not to screw things up, I hurry upstairs after her and find myself standing in the middle of her loft.
It’s a tiny, cozy space. I should know: I’ve been crashing here the last few days. She’s been gracious enough to let me sleep at her home, and even though there’s a part of me that thinks I should refuse the offer, the reality is that I’m not going to.
I do want this.
Her.
All of it.
And when I walk over to her sitting on the bed, I know that everything between us is about to change.
“Are you sure?” I whisper to her.
“I’m sure.”
But there’s something I have to tell her first.
“I’m clean,” I say. “I don’t have anything.”
“I’m on the pill,” she tells me. “And I’m clean, too. I don’t have a condom, anyway.”
Okay, so that doesn’t really bother me. Even if she were to get pregnant again, I’m a lot older now. I’m different. I’m wiser and smarter and I would like to think that I’m a little bit braver than I used to be.
If she got pregnant, I wouldn’t leave this time. I won’t leave, anyway, but I certainly wouldn’t run off again when she’s just so perfect and wonderful. It breaks my heart that she went through that last pregnancy alone, but there is simply no chance she’ll ever have to do that again.
“There’s something else,” I whisper, and suddenly, I see her hope deflate. Her shoulders slump and her eyes droop.
“You’re married,” she whispers, shaking her head. “Shit. I should have known.”
She sighs, grabbing a pillow, and she wraps her arms around it.
“What?”
“Married, dating, live-in friend-with-benefits,” Alicia shakes her head. “I should have realized it sooner. Sorry,” she says. “I never would have, you know, come onto you.”
She blushes, and I can suddenly scent how she’s feeling. She’s embarrassed, and she’s anxious, and she’s reeking of frustration.
But there’s been a misunderstanding, because it’s just her.
It’s only ever been her.
“I’m not married,” I tell her. “It’s something else.”
“You’re gay?” She whispers, eyes going wide. “Because that’s fine, Cage. I totally understand.”
She places her hands in her lap and closes her eyes.
“Sweetheart, I’m not gay.”
