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But now…
“Sorry,” David says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m tired. Shouldn’t have to deal with me too long.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” I snap.
David rolls his eyes. It’s such a…petulantresponse. It makes my lips quirk. If I wasn’t so annoyed at him—and at myself, at my emotions and my responses to him—I might even laugh.
I climb into bed. It’s cold, but not unbearably so. It’s just… winter in the mountains.
David slips off the light. It helps the tension a little, but I can still see him. The bedroom is small—a tall dresser, a window with blue curtains, a full bed, and two nightstands. Nothing else. It’s so different from David’s house, where everything is opulent and nice, even when it’s clear he doesn’t notice or care. Even hisspoonsare nice.
Seeing him here… this is a place more like mine, like where I grew up.
I lean against the pillows. My night creams are on the nightstand. I didn’t put them there—I’d had them on the floor, in a little bag. The first night I was here, I was staying awake, talking to Jessi and Lewis by the fire. David went to bed first. That was what I was waiting for. By the time I came in, David had unpacked—his things in the second drawer, mine in the first. Our toothbrushes are side by side. He’d put my night creams on the nightstand.
I pick them up, applying them one by one. As I massage my elbows with them, I choke back tears.
David’s considerate sometimes.
Other times, he’s accepting a new job in a different time zone, and I’m finding out about it offhandedly from a third party.
This re-lights the fire in my belly, the one that has been teetering between fury and sorrow for days now. By the time David’s got his watch off, setting it gently on top of the dresser, I’m scowling.
He sighs when he sees me. “What did I do now?”
“You took your watch off in an annoying way,” I say.
His eyes blink rapidly. His mouth turns up and down in rapid succession, like he can’t decide if that is funny or annoying.
Well, whatever. I think I deserve a little pettiness. He’s running away toFrance.
“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day?” he asks.
I fidget on the bed. “I’m… do we have to?”
“What?” he frowns at me. “Do Valentine’s Day?”
“Do this—” I wave a hand between us. “This small talk.”
David’s face falls. For a moment, I feel so bad that I almost take it back. Then he nods, once and short, and turns away from me.
I can’t…
Because heisa good guy. The best, really, and I just… I can’t take it.
If I have any hope of pulling myself together when he leaves, I can’t let him pull me any closer. I can’t let him chat with me and unpack my suitcase and remember how I drink my coffee. It’s too…
I lay down.
In the darkness, David continues getting ready for bed. He strips his shirt off of himself, tugging it from behind his neck. I watch as his skin slowly is exposed. His abs are defined, but softly—he clearly is strong and works out, but his age has let him lose that tough exterior I’m sure he had a decade ago. It makes me want to touch him. It makes me want to give in, to stretch up, to press my lips to the soft curve of him, to feel the way his muscles twitch and move because ofme.
I bury my face in my pillow.
This…
This is exactly why having one bed only is such torture.
I try to be still, to just… pretend. Maybe if I pretend I’m asleep for long enough, he’ll go to bed, and we can both simply pretend like nothing is happening between us. Like nothinghashappened between us.
