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Not a one night stand or a fuck buddy.
But a partner.
I turn my head into his neck and squeeze my eyes shut, and if he feels the tears that leak out, he doesn’t comment. He just holds me tighter.
“I’ve got you, B.”
And isn’t that all I’ve ever wanted?
Chapter 11
Atlas
Blair is in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, head back against the headrest as air blows through the open window. He asked me to drive around the back roads a few minutes ago, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s starting to feel sick or if he doesn’t want to go home.
His car makes lots of noises, and for as old as it is, I’m surprised the thing hasn’t broken down. Blair bought the car when he was sixteen for a couple hundred bucks from a shady guy down at the end of the park, and somehow it’s survived the last seven years.
I stopped drinking after my second beer, but Blair looked like he was having fun. He’s kind of like a faerie when he dances: smooth and graceful. Even when those sensual hip rolls start or his hands begin finding places on my body I didn’t know were erogenous, it’s like watching magic happen right in front of my eyes.
Blair in his tight clothes and makeup and nail polish, looking like one hell of a sexy badass. I’m used to sweet, thoughtful, quiet Blair; so seeing him be this bold and open cracks something inside me that I didn’t know was this close to bursting.
I glance briefly over to Blair, and he cracks one eye open with a tiny smile.
“Watching me?”
I avert my eyes back to the road. “Making sure you’re still breathing.”
“Not that drunk.”
“Can’t be too careful.”
He hums in response, but I don’t know if he closes his eyes again or not, taking a turn that should get us back on the road to his apartment complex. I think he might be falling asleep when I hear a deep sigh, and then he reaches for my hand and closes his fingers over mine.
I give it to him, letting him settle them into his lap.
“Could you do me a favor?” he asks, voice so soft it’s a wonder the wind doesn’t carry it away.
“Of course.”
He takes a big breath in, squeezing my fingers tight as he lets it out.
A beat of silence.
And then…
“If I ask you to touch me tonight, tell me ‘no’.”
My hand on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled as I try not to let the shock of the statement make me crash the damn car.
“What?”
He makes a wounded sound, followed by a self-deprecating laugh, and when he tries to give up my hand, I don’t let go.
“I’m drunk. Drunk enough that I’m horny. Horny enough that I’d let someone touch me; that’d I’d ask them. But I don’t actually want that. And I know I’ll feel awful about it in the morning.”
He turns his head to look at me, a painful seriousness etched into his face. “When you touch me, it’s nice. I want you to do it over and over again. But I don’t ever want to regret you, Atlas.”
I don’t know what to say to that, my heart leaping into my throat. We sit with neither of us saying a word as I pull into the lot and find Blair’s parking spot. Without the car moving, one of us should make a move to get out. But here we both sit, clinging to each other’s hand like a reminder that this moment is unfinished.
