But is it fair to her? I can’t forget that she was in danger because of me…because of her feelings for me and mine for her. The gunman’s initial stance was against the education system, but seeing us together set off a deeper anger within him. He was extreme, but there will always be haters and people who will disapprove of us. What happened between us probably shouldn’t have, but it did. Even a coma couldn’t take away those memories. When I woke up, I wanted to go right back to the way things used to be, but another part of me wonders if I was on the right track when I broke up with her.
I’m not going to lie. It’s beyond amazing to be near her like this, but if not for the accident, we would still be apart. I would have stayed away. It’s the best thing for her even if she doesn’t agree. Eventually, she would move on, although I know that I would never forget her. She’s my first love. Because of that love, staying away is the most painful thing I’ve ever done. More pain than when the bullet seared into my chest. More difficult than any amount of training I’ve done to earn my status as an elite athlete.
I’m certainly on dangerous ground now. It’s damn hard to sleep with her in the very next room. Fourteen days. Thirteen nights. I can barely make it through one day. I’ve been awake all night smelling her perfume on my shirt, thinking of her legs wrapped around my waist, my hands cupping her ass…
How could I not think of that ass? She spent the day wearing short shorts, which seemed to ride up even higher on her luscious thighs when she stretched through a yoga sequence in the backyard. It’s not like I was spying. Her kitchen table is positioned to look out the picture window and her workout timed with my breakfast. I was about to take a cold shower when she came back inside and the torture continued when she announced she was headed to the shower. I sat on the couch awaiting my turn, trying desperately to redirect my illicit thoughts. I was nearly successful, but she no sooner exited the bathroom in nothing but a towel.
But the final straw, the action that prompted the largest reaction on my part was when the day ended and we sat close on the sofa, close enough to touch, while watching television. She bent her knees and cradled her legs underneath her. The long t-shirt she wore fell toward her hips, revealing those thighs once more as well as a peek-a-boo of lace from her lingerie underneath and I was helpless to think of anything but what it used to be like to be nestled between her legs, my face buried between them.
So now I continue to think of our day with sleep eluding me. I had a pretty good idea that Kat wasn’t sleeping all that well either. At one point in the night, I heard something bump against the wall as if she turned over with annoyance at still being awake. The thought of her tossing and turning because she might want me, made me a tad bit happy in an arrogant and mischievous bastard sort of way, but I couldn’t let myself succumb.
I stayed in my bed, willing sleep to take me. I drifted off at some point, but dreamed of making love to Kat and by morning, you could have hung a flag off my pole. At the first light, I got out of bed and made my way down the hall to the bathroom. Perhaps brushing my teeth and showering would wash away my desire. If not, I was damned for the rest of the day.
As I left the bathroom, she emerged from her room. Her eyes drifted over my exposed torso and down to where a bulge still protruded for her. She immediately lifted her eyes, but it was too late. I saw the desire in them and it made mine even stronger. The sexual tension between us was too strong. Without uttering a word, an entire conversation took place in our glances. I made the ‘come here’ gesture with my index finger and she followed me back to my room.
Chapter Six
Kat
Damn foolish heart. Stop pounding. It’s not like you haven’t been with a man before. It’s not even like you haven’t been with Cole. But it means so much. Too much, in fact. To me, it’s love. And if I fall again, it’s all my fault. He stayed away from me last night. He was using his brain when he put distance between us on the couch. And then I have to go and give him that look first thing in the morning. I couldn’t even wait for a caffeine jolt to plant some sense into me.
Shit. Who am I fooling? I didn’t give him the look. I gave it to his… well, never mind. I stared without shame and he saw me. Of course he was going to react at that point. I guess he got more sleep than I did last night. If his display of desire this morning is leftover from last night, he’s damn strong to remain in his room all night. As usual, his brain was talking to him, telling him to play it safe, while mine was complete mush.
I spent the entire night overthinking the day and then thinking even more about him. While he was at physical therapy yesterday, I hit a ballet class. I videoed part of our routine and later when I checked my phone and still hadn’t heard from him, I naturally opened the app and saw that he had watched my Snap.
Dance was normally a way to ward off any anxiety. It hadn’t worked. I was still just as pent up, both from being turned on by Cole earlier with no release in sight and from the gymnastics my brain engaged in all night.
Finally, around 1 a.m. and with immense determination, I silenced my phone, plugged it into the charger, and turned it over so that I would no longer be tempted to check it. I had to prove to myself that I had a little self-respect. I fluffed the pillows determined to fall asleep, but I only managed to bang my left arm against the wall as I rolled onto my right side. My funny bone throbbed in the most non-amusing way.
I was forced to turn onto my right side — the side I had avoided falling asleep on since last year. In truth, it was how I used to prefer falling asleep, but ever since we were together, sleeping on my right side came with memories. Silly, girlish, wishful ones.
If I was being observed by one of those sleep studies the technician probably wouldn’t think anything of my avoiding sleeping on my right side, and yet there was so much reason behind it. It was the position I slept in when I used to be with Cole. He always preferred to be on the left side of the bed if one were facing it. I would climb in next to him and also lie on my left, positioning my back to his front and take comfort in our closeness. Within a moment, the feel of his hardness would press against my back and persuade me to turn over onto my right side. My leg would lift over his waist, gluing us together right where it counted. Being next to him like that brought more comfort than a year of lazy Sunday afternoons. Last night, I still clung to the memory of when I slept that way, spooning with him, and then so much more, for three delicious days, almost exactly one year ago.
One reason why our separation came with so much angst was the escalation of our relationship leading up to it. We had gone away with Jack and another teammate for a three-day weekend after enduring a time share lecture.
The overnight experience — being together at night, breakfast the next day, and sleeping with Cole was the sweetest experience. And I do mean sleeping, not sex. It was somehow even more intimate. Anyone can get together for a quick romp, but after it’s over, all too often you’re left alone — sometimes before one even returns to bed from the bathroom. But not with Cole. Coiling my body next to his for those nights fed my memory for months afterwards.
In spite of trying to forget what Cole and I had together after we broke up, I never wanted to fully lose the memory of that one weekend. I thought of it often while he lay sleeping in the hospital, imagining the way I had slept with him just as peacefully.