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Coach was right.
The only way to get past this awkward shit was to talk about it. Whether we liked that or not.
Somehow, knowing it was going to be just as uncomfortable for her made it easier for me to push the door open when I made it to the top floor, and walk inside.
Murphy’s head shot up, a little unfocused at first, likely from staring at the seemingly fully-formed gun in her hand. Then, as she blinked away the strain, seeming confused at my presence.
Didn’t I know that I wasn’t supposed to confront her? That I was meant to take her avoidance as the only communication she was going to have with me about things?
Giving her a chance to work her head around things, I leaned back against the door, exhaling hard.
“You done avoiding me?” I asked, point-blank.
“I’m not—“ she started, then seemed to realize she couldn’t pull off that lie believably. “I’m working,” she said instead.
“I see that,” I agreed, nodding. “But I think we both know it’s less about work, and more about you not wanting to face me.” Then, before she could say whatever she was opening her mouth to, I added, “To talk about what is going on between us.”
“We just had sex, Sway,” she said, trying to sound cool, judging by the way her chin lifted. But she’d crossed her arms over her chest, something I’d learned was defensive of her. “Why are you making a big deal out of it?”
“I’m not doing anything,” I reminded her. “You’re the one not wanting to face this.”
“Face what, exactly? We’re both adults. We had an itch. We scratched it. It’s over.”
It’s over.
Oh, no. No, it wasn’t. And we both knew that.
Maybe she just needed a reminder.
Straightening, I moved away from the door, making my way across the room, watching as she tensed, as she took a step back, but her eyes went heated as I got closer.
My hand reached out, slow, giving her a chance to back away. When she didn’t, I placed it on the side of her neck, feeling the tension seep from her at the contact.
“It’s over, huh?” I asked, voice soft.
“It was… casual,” she decided. Reaching, because she was just as uncomfortable as I was about talking about this. More, even.
Somehow, her discomfort made it easier for me to try a little harder, to get this out.
“And what if I said I don’t want it to be casual?” I asked, fingers massaging the tight muscles at the back of her neck from being bent over her desk day and night.
“Oh, please,” she said with a pretty fucking epic eye roll. “You’re not a more-than-casual kind of guy.”
“You’re right,” I agreed. It was useless to lie to her. “I haven’t been. But I also haven’t met you before. Figure that must be the thing making the difference. Come on,” I said when she shook her head, averting her gaze. “I’ve been honest with you. Save for the thing about Coach being in Santa Monica,” I conceded. “Why would I lie about this? To fuck you? I didn’t need to lie for that to happen,” I reminded her. “I have nothing to gain by saying I want to try this.”
“Try what?” she asked. “Being my… boyfriend?” she asked, all but choking on the word.
“Hey, I’m not saying I’m going to be any good at it. I’m saying I want to try. Because there’s something here with us. I haven’t had it with anyone else. Can’t fucking stop thinking about you,” I told her. “Even when you’re trying to avoid me.”
“Everything about you says that you only do casual,” she insisted.
“Yeah,” I agreed. Because, again, that was true. “But you know what I can tell you? I haven’t thought once about going to hit the bar with the guys. I haven’t given another woman a second thought or look since I first saw you. So… that’s where I’m at. All I’m thinking about is you. All I want is you.”
“And what about when you decide you don’t want me anymore?” she asked. And, hey, that was fair. Especially with my reputation.
“Baby, I don’t know,” I admitted. “This is new for me. I can’t tell you what six weeks or six months from now looks like. All I can tell you is that right here, right now, this is what I want. And isn’t that all anyone can say with any kind of certainty? What they want right now?”
I knew appealing to her rational side was often the way to go. She wasn’t comfortable enough with feelings of attachment toward anyone other than her dogs to be asked to go with a gut feeling or some shit like that.
“I guess,” she agreed, her breath exhaling out of her in a rush.
“Are you going to try to tell me that you haven’t been having similar feelings about me?”
