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It feels like more.
Jude’s eyes stay connected with mine, and with each of his thrusts inside me, I feel like another piece of my heart slides out of my chest and into his.
“God, you’re everything.”
Those words are a mere whisper, a barely heard wisp of sound that my ears almost can’t discern, but I swear they come straight from his lips.
I feel the same way, I silently think.
“Sophie.”
That time, I know it’s him. And his sapphire eyes hold the kind of emotion that doesn’t stem from a mere good time. The kind of emotion I’ve been feeling for him for far longer than I can even admit to myself.
And I swear, right there, right then, with softness in his voice and the way I feel like his soul is in his eyes, it’s the final blow—the bull’s-eye straight to my heart.
The mattress shifts, and I pop open my eyes to make out Jude’s form sitting on the edge of the bed in the darkness of my room. I have no idea what time it is, but I know that before I fell asleep, I was nestled cozily within the comfort of his arms, right after it felt like the sex we experienced together wasn’t just sex. No, it was far more.
When he starts to slowly stand up, almost like he’s trying to do it without being heard, I can’t stop myself from reaching out with my hand and brushing my fingers against his back.
“What are you doing?”
“I gotta go, babe.”
“Stay,” I whisper toward him. “Don’t leave. Stay the night with me.”
His muscles tense beneath my fingertips. “I can’t stay, Soph.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just…can’t.”
His back is still toward me, and the lack of emotion in his voice makes an uncomfortable ache start in the pit of my stomach. I sit up to turn on the lamp on my nightstand, and the time on my alarm clock reveals it’s after two in the morning.
“Jude? What’s going on? Did something happen?”
He finally turns around to meet my eyes. “I just can’t stay the night, Sophie. That’s not what I do.”
Not what he does? What the hell?
“What do you mean, that’s not what you do?” I ask as inklings of anger start to flood into my veins. Though, there’s enough hurt and sadness mixed in to make my lips crease down at the corners too. “We were together for three nights straight in Vegas. How is this any different?”
“Because Vegas was fun, babe. And that’s what we are—fun,” he answers, and I hate how cold his voice sounds. I swear, if I put my hand up to his mouth as those words passed his lips, I’d actually feel my fingertips freeze.
I also hate that he’s just written us off like that. After everything we’ve experienced together. After I met his family. After tonight. And he’s going to tell me this is still just fun?
I saw the way he looked at me. I felt the way he kissed me. Touched me. Slid inside me. It wasn’t fucking. It wasn’t sex. And it wasn’t just fun.
When I just sit there staring up at him, trying to understand how one man can change in what feels like an instant, Jude elaborates.
“Soph, babe, I can’t stay because that’s not what this is, you know? I thought you understood that. I thought we were on the same page.”
“We were on the same page,” I say, and my voice grows quiet as my fingers fidget mindlessly with my comforter. There’s a huge part of me that wants to hold back the truth, but the part that refuses to go along with the façade wins out. “But that page feels like it’s turned and turned again, and now, things have changed between us, Jude.”
“No, Sophie.” He stands up with just his boxer briefs covering his body and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Things didn’t change.”
That’s such bullshit. I know I have my own issues with putting relationships and commitment on some kind of pedestal that’s impossible to reach, but I know what I saw. I know what I felt.
“Are you really going to sit there and try to act like nothing besides just a bunch of sex and fun has happened between us? Please don’t do that, Jude. Think about tonight. Think about the way we were together,” I practically plead, silently hoping that he’ll take a step back and really think about what he’s feeling.
But his lips turn into a firm line, and by the way his jaw tenses, I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. Although, I’m not at all expecting what comes out of his mouth next.
“I don’t need to think about anything, Sophie. And it’s not my fault if you’ve made up some shit about us in your head,” he answers, and it feels like each one of his words is a sharpened knife stabbed deeper into my chest.
