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I give her a chaste kiss and declare, "I promise you we're going to get back there."
19
Blakely
The server fills our coffee mugs, asking, "What can I get you?"
Riggs orders, "My wife will have an order of lemon ricotta pancakes, and I'd like a Denver omelet, please."
The server smiles and chirps, "Great. Would you like white, rye, or wheat toast with your omelet?"
"Rye," Riggs answers.
She nods. "Coming right up," she says, then disappears.
Riggs sits back in his seat and drinks a mouthful of black coffee.
I add sugar and cream to mine, stir it, and take a sip, gazing at the horizon. The waves are high and crash on the shore into white foam.
Riggs blurts out, "We need to talk, pet."
My chest tightens. I don't want to talk anymore. I know we have to, but every time we talk, things only get worse. Yet, I realize we have to discuss these things or nothing will ever change. I ask, "Where do you want to start?"
"We should start with last night," he states.
The anger resurfaces. I take another sip and turn toward him, tapping my fingers on the hot cup.
Deep down, I know Riggs would never intentionally hurt me. But I still can't believe he did what he did. So I admit, "I'm still lost, Riggs. Last night was..." My stomach pitches. I continue, "I don't know why you would do what you did."
His face hardens. He narrows his blues, accusing, "Why did you kneel? We could have gotten out of there. I told you I didn't care about their rules anymore, but you went on stage and kneeled."
My gut drops. I turn back to the ocean, blinking hard. He's right. I didn't have to kneel. We could have left. So why did I?
Because I needed to submit.
He turns my chin back toward him. "Just answer my question. I need to know why you kneeled instead of leaving with me."
I kick myself for not leaving and decide lies aren't going to get us anywhere. I ask, "Was it not obvious?"
He arches his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
I shut my eyes, not wanting to admit things but knowing I need to. I blurt out, "I can't stop the cravings."
"For what?" he questions.
I lock eyes with him. My voice shakes, and I answer, "For you."
The spark in his blues lights. He picks up my hand and kisses it. "You should have just come home with me, then."
I accuse, "So you could deny me again like you did in Detroit?"
Pain fills his expression. He shakes his head. "Things are messed up between us, pet. I don't want it this way. Every minute of the day, I think about you. Jesus, you're everywhere, consuming all my thoughts. I couldn't even stop it when I took my shower outside. All I could think about was the first time we were out there together, how it felt to be inside you like that. So this isn't just hard for you."
Tingles race through my veins. I can almost feel him pinning me to the outside wall and taking me. It all adds to my longing to be with him.
Riggs suggests, "When we go home today, let's return to being us. Let's forget about everything that's happened and end this. We're both miserable without each other. Can't you see that?"
His solution sounds so simple, yet it can't be. The messages he sent my father and the green blinking light from last night fill my mind. They stop me from agreeing. I reply, "We're under the seventy-two-hour rule."
