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“You still good with Mexican?” Whit asks when we reach her and my brother.
“Yeah, is that okay with you guys?” I look at Chris and then to Thad.
“Good with me,” Chris answers first.
“I’m good with whatever.”
“Awesome. There’s this little authentic place a couple blocks from here. I swear they have the best chimichangas I’ve ever had in my life.” Whit practically moans. “I’ve only been here a week and already I’ve eaten there twice.”
“They really are pretty spectacular,” I agree. With Whit leading the way, the four of us veer right on Allen Street.
Thad and I don’t speak again on the walk over. In fact, we say very little to each other again for the rest of the afternoon. I mean sure, we talked while we ate but it was all fluff–nothing of any real importance. But that doesn’t mean that there wasn’t definitely some vibes being given off.
Like when Thad and I both reached in the chip basket at the same time and our hands touched. Or how he held my gaze after his leg had brushed against mine under the table. It’s the same chemistry we’ve always shared only now there’s a heaviness to it I can’t quite explain.
By the time we make it back to the hotel nearly three hours after Chris and Thad showed up, I feel so tense and anxious I swear everyone around me can feel it to.
Whit, being able to read me so well, suggested her and Chris grab a drink in the hotel lobby giving me the time I need to hopefully get some answers and figure out the real reason why Thad is here.
Which leads us to now, where Thad and I are sitting on opposite sides of my hotel room like we’re afraid the other might bite. Staring at each other but neither really sure where to start.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask after what feels like way too much time has passed. He’s facing away from me, staring out the window, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
He looks up and meets my gaze in the reflection of the window, giving me a slow nod before turning toward me.
“Why did you really come here? You said you came to apologize. You don’t drive twenty-six hours to apologize to someone you were only fucking for a few short weeks.” I cringe slightly at my choice of words and I can tell he’s not a fan of how I phrased it either.
“We weren’tjustfucking,” he disagrees, his voice low.
“No? Because you made it pretty clear that’s what it was for you.”
“I panicked,” he admits, taking a couple steps closer before turning and leaning back against the desk opposite to where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You panicked?” I question when he makes no attempt to explain.
“I’m in love with you, Laken,” he rushes, not giving me a chance to even process his words before he continues, “I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you walk into your parents’ kitchen. Hell, maybe even before then. Maybe it dates all the way back from when we were kids. Maybe I pushed you off that swing set because I liked you and that’s how kids show their affection, by being mean to the person they like. All I know is when I saw you it was like my entire world came back into color. I had been living my life in black and white. Everything looked and felt dull, lifeless, and then here you come with that incredible laugh and a smile that damn near melts me, and your fucking optimism and I swear it was like a light switch being flipped on. You brought me back into the light, Laken, and you didn’t do anything but walk into a fucking room.”
“Thad, I...”
But he quickly cuts me off. “When you came onto me that night of the party I nearly lost it. It took everything in me to be the good guy, to do the right thing. When all I wanted to do was take what I so desperately wanted from you. What you were so willing to give me. I promised myself that I’d get you home safe and you’d wake the next day having forgotten all about your proposition. But then we kissed and I knew from that moment on there was no going back for me. But still I tried. I tried to avoid you. I tried to stay away. I didn’t even last a day. I wanted you too badly. It was like you were a fucking drug luring me in with the promise of a high I wouldn’t ever have to come down from. From that point on you became my addiction.” He pushes away from the desk, dropping down into the chair in front of it so that we’re eye level.
“I craved you, Laken. I craved you in a way I had only craved one other thing in my entire life.”
“Drugs.” The word slips past my lips unintentionally and I can tell by the look on his face that I’ve caught him off guard.
“You know?” He studies me for a long moment, his face void of any real emotion.
“I’ve known for a while,” I admit.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He sits back in the chair.
“Because it didn’t change the way I felt about you.”
“But it did change the way I let myself feel about you,” he counters.
“I wanted you to tell me when you were ready to tell me.”
“I see.” He thinks on that for a long moment and I can tell he’s not sure how he feels about me knowing and not saying anything. “I craved you in the same way I craved drugs,” he pushes forward, getting back to the point he was trying to make earlier. “And like with my drug addiction, I convinced myself that I was in control. That I only needed a little more. Just enough to get my fix. But it was never enough. I found myself needing you more and more until it got to the point that I felt like I couldn’t breathe when you weren’t around. I had replaced one addiction with another and I felt myself spiraling out of control all over again.”
