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Embarrassment crosses my chest. “You’re right.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s hard to explain. After I lost my marriage, I didn’t want to get involved so deeply to lose someone again.”
“Do you miss Camille?”
“She’s not dead,” I shrug, but I know what she means. How to explain I don’t miss the person that Camille represented? But I miss having a life shared with someone. Even if it wasn’t that great a life at the end. “I don’t love her anymore, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s great, but when we got married it all made sense. She’s smart, attractive, successful. Then I realized we didn’t complement each other on our daily lives… she was too passive in some ways and didn’t challenge me the way I need. And I never showed much interest in her pursuits, so the relationship died. We were good friends, maybe best friends, but didn’t have an active passion between us.”
“Dad said you suffered a lot with the breakup.”
“It was my idea, but doesn’t mean it was easy. I don’t like to lose. Didn’t want to waste all those years I invested,” I say, and it’s like some miraculous masseuse worked out some tight kinks from my shoulders. Maybe that was why I didn’t leave sooner, or suggest we end sooner. Because I invested time, even if my emotions weren’t fully there. I thought they were at the time, but how easy is it to share a life together without… any spark?
“I understand.”
I frown. I appreciate her consoling, but I doubt she can pretend to know what I’m talking about. “You do? That’s hard to believe.”
She sighs, and a dark expression crosses her face. “You don’t need to be condescending. Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I don’t have the ability to put myself in someone else’s shoes.”
“You’re right. Sorry. Listen, I like you.” I swallow, and feel a tight knot in my throat. Like doesn’t even come close to how she makes me feel. “More than like. A part of me though doesn’t want it to happen because, hmmm, your dad is my best friend and if he ever found out, that would ruin things.”
She takes a strawberry and it’s her turn to feed me. She does it straightforwardly, and I take a bite, enjoying the sweet taste. Her gaze drops to my lips for a moment, then she lifts it to my eyes again. “He’d be mad for a while, but my dad isn’t old fashioned. He’s dating someone much younger too.”
I pop my knuckles. “Yes, but she’s not my daughter.”
“She’s someone’s daughter.”
I slowly nod. “I’m running the risk to sound condescending again, but hmmm, it’s different. Because I don’t want to make him feel like I wronged him.”
She places her hand on my knee, and leaves it there. I enjoy her touch, even when it’s non-sexual. Whitney oozes this warm energy that’s impossible to resist. Now I know why I fought it for so long. I thought it was to keep her away, but now I’m afraid I’m the one who’ll need restraining orders to keep my distance from her.
“I understand. If I’m honest with you, after my mom died when I was sixteen, I wanted nothing more than to be out of his way in a sense. Because he was hurting, and I didn’t want to add to that. I truly think that kept me busy from my own pain, and being proactive and then getting on social media and starting my own gig all worked together for me to find my own way in the world.”
I listen to her words, and a part of me swells with pride. “You’ve done amazing.”
“Yes. But what I meant to say is—I know what it’s like when you don’t want to do wrong by my dad. I get it. But sometimes what’s wrong for him is right for you. You’re thinking too much. Just live in the present,” she says.
“That’s hard for me. Living in the present means letting go of everything else.”
She squeezes my knee, and I stare at her. The rings around her hazel irises look even more golden. “Can you please try it… for me?”
“I want to try anything and everything for you, Whitney. That’s why this is so fucking scary,” I say, and I wonder if she hears the undertone of fear also in my voice.
She launches on top of me, and pulls my mouth to hers in a kiss that defies every part of me not to take her right there and then. My tongue swipes over hers, coaxing her into submission, but submission doesn’t come. She wants this as badly as I do, and I’m sure she can feel my hard rock erection poking her.
“Are you on the pill?” I ask.
She hums. “Yes.”
“Good. I’m clean.”
She encircles my head with her hands. “Me too. But why are you asking?”
“Because I feel when we’re alone in a closed room next, there won’t be much talking.”
She kisses my neck, then runs her index finger over my lips, outlining them. I notice her fingertip is trembling, a sign she’s also affected by this suffocating desire zinging between us. “Let’s get out of here.”
10
