Since I'd made London my home base for the last few years, I’d shipped a bunch of stuff from the U.K. I was tired of the rain and the dreary weather. I wanted sun and heat and . . . much less rain.
Plus, my family lived here. Or well, in the northern part of the state, that was, but it wasn’t a long drive up, and I was looking forward to spending the few free days I had with people I was close to.
Not that I hadn’t had friends or people I was close with in London, but they weren’t the same as someone who’d known me my whole life. With my parents, there wasn’t any pretense or B.S. or trying to be nice. And even though my sisters had scattered, Cindy in Oregon and Colleen living on the East Coast, they still regularly came home to visit.
I wanted in on that.
Plus, it was refreshing to be around my family. They called me on my shit without ill feeling and definitely didn’t let asshole or egotistical behavior of any type slide. In a world where I’d become successful enough that people kissed my ass on a regular basis, I needed someone who’d be straight with me.
So, I’d moved to California to be closer to my parents, but I’d settled in the southern portion because I didn’t want to be too close—
Of course, there was also the fact that Eden lived here.
That hadn’t factored in at all.
I snorted. Didn’t even believe my own bullshit, yet alone someone else’s.
After unlocking my front door, I pushed through into my nearly-empty apartment and headed to my bathroom. I thought I’d seen a first aid kit under the sink when I’d moved in. Hopefully I was right in it being there, because I sure as shit hadn’t stocked up on Band-Aids during the last few weeks.
I barely had furniture, let alone an assortment of bandages.
Thankfully the kit was there, and so within a couple of minutes, I’d washed the cuts then thrown a couple of Band-Aids over them. With a wince, I left the bathroom, grabbed my laptop, and plunked my ass on the couch. I had emails to answer, meetings to schedule on my calendar, shoots coming up that I needed to prepare for, and I—
Needed a break from thinking about Eden.
That wasn’t to be.
Buzz. Buzz.
I pulled my cell from my pocket.
I’m sorry I hurt you.
Hearing from Eden had been pretty much the last thing I would have ever predicted. I’d expected . . . what? To have to go over there and bang on her front door, demanding that we talk about what happened.
Yeah. That.
My phone vibrated again.
Damon. Are you okay?
I shook off the surprise and made my fingers move.
I’m fine. I’m more worried about you.
Silence.
I’m broken, Damon. I’m not right.
My heart squeezed.
You’re not broken, baby.
A beat.
I think we both know that’s not true.
Fuck, but I couldn’t deny she was wrong. Or at least, not completely. She had trauma and baggage and pain that was clearly overwhelming.
I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m so sorry that I didn’t listen to you.
Her response came almost instantly.
Sorry that you were sweet and cooked and cleaned for me? Sorry that you gave me orgasms?
I smiled despite the circumstances.
No, not for the orgasms.
I’d never regret bringing her pleasure. It was all the rest of it that I was sorry about.
I shouldn’t have grabbed you.
A beat.
I think there were a lot of shouldn’ts that have happened in the last twenty-four hours.
That wasn’t a lie. But I also couldn’t bring myself to regret everything about our night. Still, before I could tell her that, she texted again.
Can we just go back to how things were before?
How could I possibly forget everything and go back to how things were?
And yet, how could I not?
If I didn’t agree and she retreated, I would lose all of her—the friendship, the weekly calls, the woman I’d grown close to over the last six years. However, if we did go back, I wouldn’t have the sex, of course, I wouldn’t have the fucking spectacular . . . well, fucking. But I’d also lose the connection, the freedom to kiss and touch and stroke.
And . . . that was okay. It would suck, but what I knew deep down was that I couldn’t lose Eden. I couldn’t lose my friend, couldn’t not have her in my life in some form.
Even if it wasn’t the form I wanted.
Life sucked sometimes.
A man bucked up and moved on and accepted the licks thrown his way. Then he made the best of it.
Just like I was going to.
Because Eden was worth it.
And even if I didn’t get everything I’d hoped for out of our night together, I still got to keep her in my life. I still had her as a friend. I was still important enough that she’d texted first.
After everything had gone down, she’d reached out.
I could reach back.
Which was why I texted her back:
Only if you promise to give me your recipe for guacamole.
Silence. Then,
You know that’s never going to happen.
I knew a lot of things I wanted weren’t going to happen, least of all was getting my hands on her delicious dip recipe and so I sent:
Make it for me sometime?
Her reply came in a few seconds.
Sure.
But no word of when that would be, no suggestion of days and times. I had the feeling that was intentional. No, I knew Eden well enough by now to recognize it was intentional.
More distance.
But distance I was going to let her have.
Somewhat.
I’m still bringing pizza by tonight.
The “. . .” indicating she was typing immediately appeared, but I already had my next reply primed and ready. Because, yes, I could pull back, yes, I wouldn’t pressure her for intimacy she couldn’t give.
But I would be her friend.
We’ll run over your lines, gorge on extra pepperoni and olives, but then I have to go home early because I’m meeting a potential tomorrow.
Lie, but I wanted to give her an out, and she didn’t need to know that my plans for the following day included sitting on my ass doing absolutely nothing.
Especially when my response made the “. . .” of her response stop then start, then stop and start again.
Especially when it made her reply.
Come over at 7.
Another buzz a heartbeat later.
Don’t skimp on the garlic cheese bread.
Yeah, I could give her outs and space and understanding.
But I couldn’t give up on being in her life.
Even if it was only as her friend.
Six
Eden
I was a coward.