I cringe. No woman wants to feel like a man is just stuck with her, but I understand a little bit. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to marry Patrick. I loved Patrick, but I was also so vulnerable when he proposed. My life was in turmoil. Gertie was ill. I’d just had Gee. Leo needed me.
“I can’t be with someone who doesn’t believe in me.” His eyes hold mine a second before he looks back at his outstretched legs, jiggling them side to side a little.
“Yeah, I get that.” My voice lowers as my eyes fight the pull to his bare shins. I fight even harder not to look at the six-pack of abs just above the towel. My own stomach flinches, reminding me I’ve had a child and never fully recovered my body to the post-pregnancy stage. I’m soft in the middle with stretch marks to boot.
Gavin glances back at me. “You said you stopped dancing because of Gee’s birth. Did something happen with your husband? Did he not support you returning to dance?” Concern fills his voice.
“No, Patrick was . . .” How exactly do I explain him? “He was very supportive. He wanted me to return to dance, but I just didn’t have the heart for it anymore. I still love to dance, and I exercise through barre classes, but I don’t actively practice ballet anymore. I left when I was pregnant.”
Having a baby can change a person’s perspective on what’s most important in life, and Gee was everything to me.
Gavin shifts his whole body to face me. His shoulder presses into the edge of my bed, and I almost feel bad we’re sitting on the floor, but I don’t want to move. There’s nowhere else I’d like to be right now, and while my thoughts flit to sitting on the bed, I don’t trust myself to crawl up there with Gavin. Especially Gavin in a towel.
“That’s how it was with baseball and me. When I broke my wrist and struggled to recover, I just didn’t have the same drive to return. It wasn’t that I thought filmmaking would be my next thing, but I’d felt like I was missing something—as though baseball wasn’t enough anymore. Like there was something else out there waiting to be discovered, to be found by me.”
I swallow around his words, understanding again what he means.
“It sounds silly, doesn’t it?” He glances down at my hand between us and traces his fingertip down a finger.
“Gavin, I really need to—”
His hand lifts, and he strokes a section of my hair behind my ear. As I watch his movements, my mouth dries at the tender touch. He freezes, pulling his hand from my neck but hovering over my shoulder.
“I’m sorry.” He’s watching me as my chest heaves. My sharp nipples scrape against my soft tee, enhancing the sensitivity. My breasts feel swollen and heavy. “We’re twenty years older, but it feels like I’m that eighteen-year-old kid hanging out with you again, and it’s a natural reaction to reach out and touch you.”
“Gavin, you shouldn’t do this. I can’t be some filler for you just because you’re back in town for a few weeks.” My voice turns edgy. He’s always temporary, and I don’t need temporary in my life. Besides, he’s distracted me from telling him what I need to say, once again.
“Because you have a man?”
“Yeah, because I have a man,” I sarcastically snap. I’m offended he thinks I have a boyfriend when I should be flattered he thinks I’m in a position to date. However, I don’t date. I haven’t been with anyone since my husband.
“If you have a man, how come he doesn’t kiss you?” His forehead furrows like this is the most puzzling mystery. I’m startled by the question but quickly realize what he means. He’s thinking I have a man-man in my life, not the little man I’m using as my excuse.
“Our relationship isn’t like that,” I say, trying to cover for myself while my voice croaks. I need to protect myself from him, and this is the only way I know how.
“You’re still so beautiful, Brit.” His brows pinch, questioning how I could be with someone who I don’t kiss.
“Gavin,” I groan, turning my head to look at him while my face heats with the compliment. It’s been a long time since someone has sincerely called me beautiful as well.
“I just told you all about Zoey. Tell me more about your man or about your husband.” His interest is surprising, but I’m uncomfortable with this line of discussion.
“I don’t think we should do this,” I state, picking at the hem of my sleep shorts.
“Do what?”
“We don’t need to trade secrets. We don’t need to share our sad stories.”
Gavin’s eyes drop to my fingers now curled around the edge of my shorts. My nipples are fully on display under my thin shirt, and he blatantly stares at them, making them even harder, if that’s possible.
“Is it wrong that I want to know you again, Candy? I’ve missed you. I can admit it, and I feel sick that we misunderstood each other and lost all these years.”
“Who’s to say we would have kept in touch?” I say with more bite than I intend, but the truth is, if Gavin had learned the truth, he wouldn’t have wanted to stick around any more than he did. He was on the fast track to Baseball’s Hall of Fame. He didn’t want to be tied down, and it’s one reason he proposed a weekend with no strings attached.
His forehead furrows like my words hurt, and I accept that I’m being unfair to him. I haven’t given him a choice in the matter, and I’m unjustly assuming his response. I’ve also spent thirteen years without him, so this is more difficult than I thought.
“I don’t want to lose touch again. I’ve been here almost a week, and I feel like I’m running out of time. I’m here another week, and I want to see you. I promise to keep my hands to myself.” He holds up two fingers like Scout’s honor.
“Why?” I stare at him. Why now? “I’m not that girl who stayed in a hotel room with you for a weekend.”
His eyes widen. “I’m not suggesting you are. Things have changed.”
“Yes, they have,” I state harshly again, but some things stay the same, and my attraction to him, despite our heating words, is rising in temperature. I want to crawl on his lap and kiss him silly, debunking my claim of a man in my life.
“You still haven’t told me anything about your husband.”
“What is there to tell? He was a good man, and he died.” The words tumble out in a rush and sound even sharper than my previous snap at him. Quickly, I press off the floor and stand. “I’m going to check on your clothes.”
Needing space from him and the sexual energy rippling over my body, I exit the room for the laundry closet. His jeans are still damp near the bottom, but the shirt is dry. He probably doesn’t even wash them but has then professionally laundered and starched. Tumbling it in the dryer has made it a wrinkled mess, but it will have to do.
When I return to my room, Gavin is standing but propped against the edge of my bed. His ankles cross again, and his hands are clasped together in his lap. His head is lowered, but he looks up when I enter.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” His dark eyes soften, and I see the Gavin of years ago. The one who told me he loved me when I was only sixteen years old. The same one who asked me to make love to him in a hotel room.