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"Why is your hand messed up if you didn't touch him?"
He looks to his hand as if he's just now noticing the dried blood across his knuckles. Yeah, that's right, you're fucking caught. Didn't touch him, my ass.
Blowing out a breath, he shakes his head as if amused by my statement.
"You would think that, wouldn't you? It couldn't possibly be from something else."
"Then why don't you enlighten me because the way I remember it, you knocked Mason to the ground before I passed out and—"
He cuts me off. "Yeah, and then you passed out on me. For the love of God, do you know what that did to me? I didn't fucking hit him. I punched a fucking mailbox. I knew hitting him would hurt you, and that's the last thing I wanted to do. I fucking panicked when I saw you pass out, Gianna. Mason calmed me down and told me what to do."
Mason comforted him after everything. What am I missing? I almost gave Mason my virginity yesterday. I told him I would give him everything, and then he comes over to find me with August, which I know ripped his heart out. And then he helped August take care of me, and what, left?
Sensing my inner turmoil over his words, he says, "He knew I wasn't letting you go with him. I can't make you choose me, Gianna, but I'll be damned if I just let him take you without you at least hearing me out."
We drive in silence for a while longer until we reach the park across from my house, where he pulls into the parking lot. I'm quiet because I'm not sure what to say. I know the words I want to hear, but I'm not going to pretend this is some fairytale where I get swept off my feet by prince charming.
I'm staring out the passenger side window when he puts the car in park and reaches over to grab my hand. When he interlaces our fingers, warmth from his touch envelops my entire body. It instantly puts me at ease and takes away all my anxiety, and that's what scares me. It would be so easy to fall for him, to get lost in him. Loving him would be as easy as breathing.
"Gianna, please look at me. You gave me something tonight, and I need to see your face when you tell me why."
Is he serious right now? He wants to talk about why I gave him my virginity. Who just says let's talk about sex? Fuck this. He's the one who said he wanted me to hear him out.
"I don't need to explain myself to you. You're the one who said you wanted me to hear you out, so start talking, or I can walk home." He shakes his head and smiles as if what I said amuses him.
"Why do you always have to fight me? Why can't you see I'm just trying to understand you? Maybe I just want to know that the girl who gave me her virginity did it because I mean something to her when her actions say otherwise."
My mouth is suddenly dry, my heart rate picks up, and I can feel my hands get clammy with nerves. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the seat and whisper, "You know you do."
I hear him slowly blow out a breath as he shifts to lean over the console. Grabbing my chin, he angles my face towards him before saying, "Look at me, baby."
When I open my eyes, his beautiful golden-brown orbs are there imprinting on my soul, marking me as his. He is the other half of my soul, a part of me that I didn't know was missing until I found him. It physically hurts to think he might not feel the exact same way.
"Why does it look like it pains you to say that?"
How do I answer this? Do I give him some bullshit response that leaves me protected, or do I open myself up and give him the power to break me? Isn't that what love is after all? Giving someone the ability to break your heart and trusting them not to. I'm not saying I love him, but at the same time, I can't expect something from him that I'm not willing to give myself, and that's honesty. So, I answer with the truth.
"Because it does. I wasn't expecting you. I wasn't planning on finding someone that challenged my beliefs, who makes me feel empowered, fearless, and sexy with just one look. When you touch me, my world comes into focus. In those moments, nothing else matters because you are there. What hurts is the thought of you not feeling anything for me."
The next thing I know, his lips smash into mine, stealing the air from my lungs. Our teeth clash and our tongues dance together, desperately seeking depth that can't possibly be gained from a kiss alone. I want this kiss to consume him. I want him to be as hopelessly enamored as I am. I don't want him to let me go. He brings his hand to the base of my neck before pulling back to catch his breath. I'm sure he can see the vulnerability in my eyes from my confession, and a part of me wants to take it all back, but before I have a chance to let my insecurities take root, he puts his forehead to mine and says, "Promise me you are mine." I calm my erratic breathing, put my hand to his cheek, and look him straight in the eyes when I say, "As long as you’re mine."
His lips are back on mine, but this time his kiss is gentle and passionate as his tongue caresses mine, slowly melting my heart. Our tongues glide over one another in perfect harmony, and I'm aching for him to touch me everywhere. I want his hands on me. Grabbing his shirt, I pull him into me as best I can, considering there's a center console in the way. He smiles against my lips before saying, "My girl is greedy. One taste, and she already can't get enough." Then my phone chimes.
Of course, my phone chimes because all our moments are stolen. I'm so tired of being interrupted every time we are together, I could cry. That's what happens when I get angry or super mad. I cry. It's like an emotional overload.
Pulling out of my embrace, he thumps back into his seat. I don't think he's angry, just frustrated like I am. Retrieving my phone from my purse, I see it's from my mom. Thank God because I don't think either one of us could handle another emotional trip tonight.
"It's my mom. She's just checking to make sure I'm okay since it's late." What he doesn’t know is that my mom never checks up on me. Tonight’s text is very peculiar. I’ve come and gone as I pleased for years without question. The fact that I might be missed in general is even more perplexing, but my brain can’t take any more drama tonight. I’m tapped out, especially with whatever is now happening between August and me.
When I look over, I see him slightly relax at the revelation. He looks at the clock on the dash and says, "Yeah, I better get you home."
Because I can't help myself and I'm a glutton for punishment, I say, "I don't want to go home." Those words have never been truer. I want to stay with him. It doesn't matter where. Anywhere will do, as long as it's with him. With his head still lying against the seat rest, he turns to me and reaches for my hand. Bringing my hand to his lips, he kisses each finger before interlacing them with his.
"Baby, you have no idea how tempting you are. I would love nothing more than to turn my car around and take you home, but since I plan on keeping you, I don't want to piss off your family."
I know he is right, and I am so tired. It's only Monday, and we have work tomorrow, so I drop it, but I can't hide the disappointment on my face.
"Pack a bag tonight and stay with me tomorrow after work?"
