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“Fuck,” I murmur, nuzzling against her again and trailing lazy kisses up the space where her shoulder meets her neck. Her nails drift down my back, and for a second, I just breathe her in.
Goner. I’m an absolute goner.
Chapter 32
Piper
AssoonasI’mable to roll out from underneath Fitz, I do. Heart racing, I sit at the edge of the bed, painfully aware of the way my stomach folds, my hair sits on end in places - all sense of confidence washed away after that look Fitz gave me. The one that says “this is more than just a fuck.”
Granted, I knew that. I knew that going into this; into this bed, into this date, hell, into this relation- uh, whatever this is.
But seeing that look on his face made my stomach do a somersault in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. If we’re honest, since Mickey.
And my heart, like my stomach, does a fuckin’ summersault too.
Grace is not my strong suit - so somersaults need to stop.
“Can you find me something to wear?” I throw over my shoulder, and when I look back, he’s leaning on one side, but he’s pulled the duvet over the lower half of his body. That line has returned between his eyebrows, but he reaches out, his fingers trailing down the lower half of my spine in a delicate way that makes my stomach clench.
“Sure.” He pauses. “Is everything ok?” It takes a heartbeat for me to plaster a smile on my face, trying to ignore the panic rising in my chest, and I lean back, pressing a kiss to his lips.
“That was wonderful.” Not a lie. The sex was wonderful. Too wonderful.
I haven’t come that hard in a long time - haven’t felt someone so frenzied with me that I could tell they were holding back, though I guess with Fitz, I was used to him holding back.
I push myself to stand, and immediately feel the slick between my thighs, satisfying but also a stark reminder of the reason my heart was beating out of my chest. I take the few strides toward the bathroom and step in without looking back.
I stare at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands a few moments later. Hair a mess, both from the sex and the rain. Literally stark ass naked, save my jewelry, with red splotches all over my chest, my neck, even my thighs. My makeup is mostly gone, both on Fitz’s face and the pillow I’d turned my cheek into out of habit to muffle my cries.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
When I step out a few minutes later, there’s a tee shirt laying across the edge of the bed. Oversized, just the way I like it. I ignore the shorts sitting next to it, and move to sit down when I see a glass of water sitting next to my purse.
Well, fuck. He got me water.
With a deep sigh, I dig in my bag, pulling out the individually wrapped makeup wipe I packed - horrible for your skin, but I wasn’t about to pull out a ten step skincare routine here. At least, not from this Barbie purse. I’m wiping my face off when Fitz slips through the door, Roscoe jingling behind him. He’s got a pair of basketball shorts slung around his hips, riding so low I can tell he doesn’t have underwear on.
I swallow, trying to look away as he leans against the wall next to the bathroom door. Once I finish with my wipe, I offer it to him, and he smiles, pushing off the wall to come sit in front of me. Concentrating, I wipe the cold cloth across his face, managing to remove the majority of the foundation on his nose and forehead.
Before I can lower my hand completely, he lifts his fingers to my wrist.
“Hey,” he says, and his voice is gentle as he searches my face. I give a smile, but he purses his lips. “What happened there?”
“What do you mean?” He gives me a look that very clearly sayscut the bullshit, and I sigh again. “I’m just in my own head.” With my other hand, I reach up to touch his face, brushing my thumb along his cheek. Instead of nuzzling into it, he leans sideways, brushing a kiss across my palm. It’s surprisingly tender, even for today.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I rub at the back of my neck, pulling the last of my hair out from under the tee shirt I’d thrown on - a burnt orange monstrosity with aUT Athleticslogo across the chest.
“Can I say no?” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood, and reach into my purse, retrieving the small pillbox I’d brought with me. When I dump the pile into my hands, his gaze lands on them. “Behold, my normal person potion.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite touch his eyes as he pivots, pulling his long legs underneath him on the bed. Roscoe climbs up on the other side, curling up next to him.
“Normal is overrated.” He sounds matter of fact, but looking around his room, his life - it’s so normal. So orderly. And I’m a big whopping mess with a pile of happy pills in my hand, having a near panic attack after fantastic sex because I’m catching feelings for someone I’m actually allowed to catch feelings for.
I’m allowed to catch feelings for Fitz, right?
Conspiratorially, I lean forward, crossing my legs like him and holding up the smallest of the pills between my fingers.
“Anxiety.” I pinch it between my palm and my other fingers and grab the next biggest. “Migraines.” It joins the first. “ADHD - or, whatever they’re calling it now.” A larger one goes into my palm. “Depression.” I palm the two largest and grab the last one, round and white. “Sleep.” I put that one back into the container, and take a deep gulp from the cup on the side table before swallowing down the stack of pills.
He watches me, unfazed, like it doesn’t bother him one bit that I only function because my chemical imbalances are managed by my psychiatrist of eight years and freakingWalmart pharmacy.
