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He groans, and I can hear him shifting around on his bed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s really fine,” I say, my tone flat.
“Faye, fuck,” he says. I can picture him squeezing the back of his neck. “This thing between you and me? This is real. It’s happening. This isn’t casual and it’s not just some cheap phone sex thing. I’m going to be thinking about those sexy sounds you made for the rest of my life. I mean, fuck…”
My cheeks flush hot, but it’s not embarrassment that courses through my veins. It’s something far more sensual.
“Just talk to me, babe,” he says, pained.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to mess it up.”
“I don’t want that either.” He takes a deep breath. “But we need to be able to talk about it. You need to trust that I’m not going to suddenly stop taking care of you. And that as much as I want to hear you make those incredible sounds—that I want to be the one who makes you fall apart like that—I want you to feel safe with me. I’m not going anywhere. Full stop.”
My heart flutters in my chest and I’m overwhelmed with a heady mixture of relief and disbelief.
“I don’t know how—I don’t want to…” I swallow hard. He doesn’t interrupt me. He waits patiently. “I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“You can’t know that,” I whisper.
“Yes, Faye. I can.” His words are so sure, so certain, that it nearly knocks the disbelief out of my head. “This thing tonight? It’s just the beginning. That kiss the other day? The one I’ve been dreaming about and thinking about nonstop? That was just a prelude.”
“A prelude?” I say, smiling. I can hear the smile move across his face.
“Yeah, a prelude. You like that?”
“It’s pretty good.”
We’re both quiet for a beat.
“I want this, Faye,” he says, his voice low and suddenly urgent. “I won’t do anything to screw it up. So don’t expect me to.”
My heart hammers in my chest.
“Do you believe me when I say that?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat and nod. “Yes.”
“Good.” He lets out a deep breath. “Sweet dreams, babe.”
“Good night,” I whisper.
“Good night,” he repeats.
I don’t let myself overthink it as I struggle to find sleep. Not the way he sounded so tortured when he asked for a photo; not the way it felt as my fingers pumped inside me at his command; not the strangled words he mangled as he found his release.
And definitely not the way he told me he wasn’t going to screw it up. Because if he isn’t going to be the one to screw this up, then it’s going to be my fault. And I’ll have no one to blame but myself.
35
faye
It’s beenyears since I’ve been to my family’s Vermont home, but it hasn’t changed. I drive down the steep hill and curve around the old growth trees to my family’s cedar-shingled house with its green trim, overlooking the riverbed and valley below. The three gables, the wraparound front porch, the forest green Adirondack chairs that have been refreshed for the season. It’s all there, and when I park my rental car in front of the four-car garage, my sister stands in front of the extra wide front door, clapping her hands. Her friends Gwen and Hadley flank her in the doorway.
