“I didn’t mean to spoil your day,” I say, grabbing a water from the fridge.
He puts the pizza box on the kitchen table, a puzzled look on his face. “You didn’t.”
“Make sure you clean up after yourself. You’ve been leaving stuff around lately and Rian is getting annoyed.”
He stops all movement and looks at me. “Did she tell you that?”
I turn and walk to my room. “I can tell. We’ve been friends a long time. I have to lie down.” I shut my bedroom door and flop onto my bed.
Better to lock myself in here before he gets an upfront view of my jealousy.
A soft knock on my door tells me I was too transparent out there.
“I’m going to lie—”
“Talk to me,” he says, coming in and shutting the door.
Me, him, and a bed is not a good idea. Not right now.
“I just had another bad day. I think I need to quit, honestly.”
He sits down beside me on the bed.
Bad idea.
“What’s with the attitude?” he asks.
“I don’t have an attitude.”
“You do realize that I don’t want anyone but you and that if I can’t have you, I’m not going to resort to being with someone else?”
I didn’t.
“Why do you keep putting it out there like there’s some hope for us? If we sleep together and then get annoyed with one another, we have to stay living together. Not good. And if we try to make a go of it, you’re leaving anyway and going back to a life in a completely different country with a million obligations that don’t include me.”
“Save me the speech. I’ve heard it a million times.” The irritation in his voice is clear. “I’m just saying that I’m not going to fuck your friend, okay?” He heads toward the door.
I hate that he’s angry. “Why are you mad?”
He faces me and I notice his hands are clenched into fists. “Because I want you so badly. Every night when I go to bed, I beat off to the memories of the one night I had you. I beat off to images of me taking you on every surface in this apartment. And you seem to just take it in stride like it doesn’t bother you until you see me with your friend.”
I pop up off the bed. “You think I don’t want you? My body physically aches for you. I lie in bed and imagine you beating off with the hope it’s to me. But in a little over a month you’re going to walk out that door and I’ll never see you again. I can’t risk it.”
He crosses the room, his finger landing under my chin and bringing my face to his. “Who hurt you?”
I close my eyes, trying to hide the tears building.
It was just a bad day at work. Shut it off. Push down the emotions.
“Sierra, open your eyes.” When I don’t open them, he leans closer. “Open your eyes, baby.”
I open them and two fat tears roll down my cheeks. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sierra
“I thought we would walk around downtown Cliffton Heights,” I say after we step off the train in Manhattan, only to hop into a taxi.
“We got to know each other so much the night we met in Manhattan that way. The apartment is great, and I thank you and Rian for letting me stay there, but it’s crowded. I get no alone time with you.”
“You want alone time with me?” My chest feels buoyant from his words.
He quirks his eyebrow at me and shakes his head. “Who told you you weren’t important.” He isn’t asking it as a question, but more a statement to himself.
Pain and sadness seep into all those wounds that are exposed like the parched desert floor.
Not because anyone told me I don’t matter. Quite the opposite actually. But wounds don’t always come from words; they also come from actions.
We arrive at the Brooklyn Bridge and I laugh. “We’re heading back down memory lane, huh?” I climb out, and he joins me after paying the cab driver.
“Shall we revisit our first date?” He holds out his hand.
“I’d love to.”
We walk hand in hand, but the weather is colder and it’s not quite as enjoyable as that perfect fall night the first time we were here. There are fewer pedestrians and the ones who are braving it are wrapped up in scarves and gloves.
“I feel unprepared,” I say.
“Yeah, I’m used to my servants telling me if I need extra attire,” he says so convincingly. He checks me out from the corner of his eye. “I’m kidding. I didn’t realize the weather would be so much colder here.”
“It’s the river,” I say but snuggle closer to him for warmth.
“Listen, we made a deal to be friends and that won’t change when it’s time for me to return home. I wanted to talk to you about something… I’ve noticed these past weeks that you hold a lot in.”
“Please don’t say you brought me here for some Psych 101 discussion to discover the hidden secrets of Sierra Sanders?”
He chuckles. “I have a shit-ton of secrets and I need a confidant, so I figure we should dish all our crap to one another, promising to never repeat it.”
“So, what? Neither one of us can tell anyone else how screwed up we are?”
“Pretty much.” He stops us midway over the bridge and we look over the railing at the dark water below that matches the blanket of dark sky above us. “So talk. Blanca made an off-the-cuff comment about your mom passing away when you were young. And when I looked at her like I didn’t know what she was talking about, she shut up quick.” He pauses, I think to give me time to digest what he said.
If I tell him, he’ll know. I’ll no longer be the woman he slept with and lived with. I will forever be the girl whose mom died in war.
“She’s a good friend, you know? Shitty what happened, but she’s definitely got your back.”
I nod. I’ve known that my entire life. Even when I was upset that she went to a different college. I knew it was what was best for her future, but instead of being happy for her, all I saw was that she was choosing to leave me.
Maybe Adrian is right. If I vomit out all my problems, maybe I’ll feel better. Worst case scenario, he’s not attracted to me anymore afterward. Maybe that will help relieve some of the sexual tension we’ve been living with.
“I was born to Sergeant and Sergeant Sanders.” I turn to him. “Is this what you expected?”
His smirk says he enjoys my sense of humor. “Military parents?”
I bite my lip and nod. I want to get this over with quickly so I can tell him my mom died and he can give me the sad eyes and we can move on. “Yep. Both fought in the Iraq War, but only one sergeant returned home.”
He releases my hand and touches my forearm. “I’m sorry.”
He’s sincere.
Of course he is. Everyone always is.
I glance at him. It’s like the moonlight was made to cast down on Prince Adrian Marx. He’s beautiful and sexy and kindhearted. Nothing like I thought he’d be when I stalked him in those magazines and online gossip blogs.
“I know.”
There it is, the moment when the eyes grow even sadder because losing a mother is thought of as worse. I lost the nurturer, the caregiver. The woman who was to teach me how to put on eyeliner, to talk about womanhood, go prom dress shopping.