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“Ali, that night, the night you came here, you sat there on this very couch, and we talked honestly about how we feel, you kissed me, right there where you are sitting, and it took all the air from my lungs. Just thinking about it takes my breath away. I’ve wanted you for a very long time, you’ve been my constant and that night, you admitting that you had those feelings too, even after I broke your trust. I broke your heart and I fucked up. You could see past my brokenness. You knew I wasn’tmethat night on tour. You are perhaps the only person who knew I wasn’t me that whole tour. I felt alive when you touched me, Ali, I felt together, like there was air in my lungs again. Like there was a point to all this. That it was possible for someone as fucked up and broken as me to smile again. But then you left, and I fought back, fought my feelings, tried to persuade myself that I didn’t need you to fix me… but I do need you, Ali. I need you to be me again. I don’t think I know what love is, but I know how much I want you, Ali.” I take a breath, my hearts beating rapidly in my chest, I look to her for some sort of reaction, her eyes are fixated on the floor again.
“You laid in my bed, and I promised myself that I’d never let you go again, but you were gone by morning.” Her head looks up, her eyes staring straight into mine. They darken, I hope she’s remembering that night. That night that is plastered in my mind, forbidding me from enjoying sex with another woman because it was so goddamn mind-blowing. I push my hand towards her, and she grasps it in hers, I lock our fingers, feeling her skin on mine is electric.
“I told Christian I couldn’t see him again. He didn’t understand. Thought it was something to do with the tour and the stress. I never told him we spent the night together, but he knew I was hung up on something,” she says quietly, her voice barely a whisper. “Hung up on something that wasn’t him.”
“Hung up on something?” I question.
“Yes, Max.”
“So you and Christian have been split up for weeks?”Damnit. Not that she would have seen me, but if I’d have known I probably wouldn’t have run to America. Well maybe not.
“Not as long as we should have been. I should have done it the minute I left here, but I just kept dragging it out. But I separated from him in my mind. That would be eleven weeks. Maybe even before then if I’m completely honest with myself.”
Eleven painful weeks. Seventy-seven days. Eighteen hundred and forty-eight hours. Yeah, I knew. I knew exactly how long it had been since I’d kissed her beautiful lips. Since I’d felt her gorgeous curves. Since I’d held her on my mattress and made sweet love to her.
“Hung up on something for eleven weeks huh?” I can’t help the excited tone in my voice as I run my fingers of my left hand along her wrist, her hand still interlocked with my other.
“Max. Seriously don’t get cocky.”
“Ali, this is me. I’ve never not been cocky.”
“Okay. Well, what I’m about to tell you might stop you.”
“Now I’m intrigued.” I sit up in my seat, I’m not sure if I’m ashamed to admit my cock stands to attention too, my lack of boxers making it painfully obvious.
“Well. Look. It’s like this.” Her pretty little mouth is speaking but she looks lost, like she’s searching for something. She pulls her hand from me, wrings it in her lap with her other hand, her eyes fix on me—a look of pleading that I understand what she’s about to say.
“I understand if you don’t want in. I’m not going to ask you for anything, anything you don’t want to give. I don’t need money. I don’t need time and if you don’t want in at all that’s fine, but it won’t change my mind.”
“Don’t want in what? Ali, what are you saying?”
What the hell Is she talking about? What doesn’t she need time for? Or money. I’m good for both. I don’t know what she means.
“Max. Max, I’m pregnant.”
Oh Fuck.
