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Then I wait, sitting in the room with my eyes locked out the window on hazy Houston until it’s time to leave, that heavy feeling in my chest not easing the slightest until she’s standing at my side, waiting for the hired car to arrive in front of the hotel.
Then I know I’m in trouble.
The flight back to St. Louis is much like the one to Texas after we made our deal about hooking up for fun. It’s light and fun, more stories about our lives, places we want to travel to, but there’s also an undercurrent of something else in her tone. Something is bothering her. There’s a hint of distance between us. I have no clue what it is, and I have no right to ask her about it. We’re colleagues, two people who fuck on occasion. I wouldn’t even call us friends. We have dinner in the evenings because it’s in the contract she signed. We travel together for the same reason.
We fuck because we’re so good at it.
Friends?
I wouldn’t call us friends despite the conversation coming so easily. Has she told me anything she wouldn’t tell others in casual small talk? I smile during a break in topics and think back.
We talk about siblings, my brother and her sister, our stories—surface stuff—matching almost point for point. She’s allergic to small animals. I’m allergic to cedar and other seasonal things. We talk business.
I don’t know her fears. She hasn’t mentioned the problems with her dad or his affair. She hasn’t mentioned that her mother never attended her school functions growing up, not even her high school or college graduation because the woman is always traveling and just happened to have schedule conflicts. I know these things because Wren researched them.
I haven’t told her about how I was gutted and missed a semester of college when my grandfather died because it devastated me, and how just the thought of losing one of my parents could possibly send me over the edge. I would never tell her about Freckles, the stuffed rabbit I had as a child—and slept with until I was twelve—that is still somewhere in my room at my childhood home.
We aren’t friends. It’s not my place to ask her what’s wrong if it isn’t something she’s willing to open up and speak about on her own.
The shift continues, her mood changing even more as the plane lowers in the sky, getting closer to landing. By the time we’re pulling up to the terminal, she’s silent, giving me small smiles and blank eyes. I keep my distance even when I want to back her against the wall, tilt her chin up and demand she tell me what’s wrong. I don’t get to tell her that all I want is her pussy in one breath and then demand she open up in the other. It’s contradictory, and I know I’m not ready for the fallout. What if she rejects me and I never have her that way again? What if she gives me exactly what I ask of her, and I’m not ready for that either?
We slide in the back of the hired car, our bodies as far away from each other as the seat will allow as the driver takes us to her hotel. Instead of getting out with her when he pulls up to the front, I lean over, brush a kiss to her temple and wait for her to climb out. He helps her with her suitcase, and I can’t watch her walk away.
I easily go after what I want in life, but right now I have no idea what that is. Normally I’m a sampler, a little of this, a little of that, but there is no little of anything with her. I want it all, but I know I don’t deserve a damn thing. I’m grateful for what she’s given, but that emotional shit, I just can’t handle right now.
The deal was her body, her pussy, her mouth. Fun. Fucking. That’s what we agreed to. Now she’s got me tied up in fucking knots.
Granted, I was tied up in knots before I opened my mouth with the stupid suggestions, but that’s beside the point. Maybe we took it too far. We touched too much. Spent too much time together outside of fucking. Hell, maybe I’ve been the clingy one, and she’s the one trying to pull back.
Fuck.
Is she the one backing away, and I’m the one too stupid to read the room?
Son of a bitch.
I’m the damn clinger here.
Everything is fine.
If I can just go back to the original agreement, then there’s no longer a problem.
I have the driver take me to BBS because going home to an empty condo sounds like the worst idea ever.
Most of the guys are in the office, but it looks like the majority of them are getting ready to head out. I get waves and greetings as I swing through, Ignacio telling me that Deacon is in his office when I ask on my way through.
