Beautiful Player
Page 62
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“You don’t think all that highly of me, do you?” he said, finally turning to face me.
“Please. You know I think you practically walk on water. I don’t want you freaking out or thinking I expect you to change anything.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“I’m just saying that I know last night meant different things for each of us.”
His brows pulled together. “And what was it to you?”
“Amazing? A reminder that even though I failed miserably with Dylan, I can have fun with a man. I can let go, and enjoy it, I know it probably didn’t change who you are, but it feels a little like it changed me. So, thank you.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “And who exactly am I, do you think?”
I walked over to him and stretched to kiss his chin. His cell phone buzzed where it sat on the counter, the name Kitty lighting up the screen. So that answered that question. I took a deep breath, gave myself a moment for all the pieces to line up in my head.
And then I laughed, nodding to where it continued to vibrate across the counter. “A man who’s good in bed for a reason.”
He frowned, reaching for the phone and shutting it off. “Hanna,” he said, pulling me back toward him. He placed a lingering kiss on my temple. “Last night—”
I sighed at how easily we slotted together, at how perfectly my name was shaped by his mouth. “You don’t have to explain, Will. I’m sorry I made it weird just now.”
“No, I—”
I pressed two fingers to his lips, wincing. “God, you must hate the postsex processing and I don’t need it, I swear. I can handle all of this.”
His eyes searched my face and I wondered what he was looking for. Did he not believe me? I reached for his jaw and kissed him softly, feeling the tension slip from his body.
His hands came to rest on my hips. “I’m glad you’re okay with this,” he said finally.
“I am, I promise. No weirdness.”
“No weirdness,” he repeated.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The only reason I ever skipped a run was if I was deathly ill or on a plane headed somewhere. So Monday morning, I hated myself a little for shutting off my alarm and rolling back over into the pillow. I just had no interest in seeing Hanna.
But as soon as I had the thought, I had to consider its accuracy. I didn’t want to see Ziggy, bouncing and chatting away as if she hadn’t blown me apart two nights ago with her body and words and needs in the guise of Hanna. And I knew if Ziggy showed up this morning, acting like Saturday night never happened, it would wreck me a little.
I’d been raised by a single mother, with two older sisters who didn’t give me any choice but to understand women, know women, love women. In one of the two serious relationships in my life, I’d talked to my girlfriend about the possibility that this comfort with women worked out pretty well for me when I hit puberty and ended up wanting to have sex with every girl I met. I think that girlfriend had been trying to not-so-subtly hint that I manipulated women by pretending to listen. I didn’t probe the issue much; we broke up pretty soon after that.
But whatever my comfort with the opposite sex, it didn’t seem to help me at all with Hanna. She felt like a separate creature, a separate species. She threw all my experience out the window.
Somehow, when I fell back asleep I started dreaming about f**king her on a giant pile of sports equipment. A lacrosse stick dug into my back but I didn’t care. I just watched her rock on top of me, eyes clear and locked to mine, her hands moving up and around my chest.
My phone buzzed beneath me, wedged into my spine, and I woke with a start. Glancing at my clock, I realized I’d overslept; it was nearly eight thirty. I answered without looking, assuming it was Max asking me where the f**k I was for our Monday morning meeting.
“Yeah, man. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Will?”
Fuck. “Oh, hey.” My heart squeezed so tightly beneath my ribs that I groaned, and ran a hand over my mouth to stifle it.
“You’re still asleep?” Hanna asked. She sounded out of breath.
“I was, yeah.”
She paused, and the wind on the other end whipped through the phone line. She was outside and out of breath. She’d gone running without me. “Sorry to wake you.”
I closed my eyes, pressing a fist to my forehead. “Don’t worry about it.”
She stayed quiet for a few long, painful seconds and in that time we had several different conversations in my head. One where she told me I was being a dick. One where she apologized for implying that I could be so cavalier about the intense night we had. One where she prattled on about nothing in particular, Ziggy-style. And one where she asked if she could come over.
“Please. You know I think you practically walk on water. I don’t want you freaking out or thinking I expect you to change anything.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“I’m just saying that I know last night meant different things for each of us.”
His brows pulled together. “And what was it to you?”
“Amazing? A reminder that even though I failed miserably with Dylan, I can have fun with a man. I can let go, and enjoy it, I know it probably didn’t change who you are, but it feels a little like it changed me. So, thank you.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “And who exactly am I, do you think?”
I walked over to him and stretched to kiss his chin. His cell phone buzzed where it sat on the counter, the name Kitty lighting up the screen. So that answered that question. I took a deep breath, gave myself a moment for all the pieces to line up in my head.
And then I laughed, nodding to where it continued to vibrate across the counter. “A man who’s good in bed for a reason.”
He frowned, reaching for the phone and shutting it off. “Hanna,” he said, pulling me back toward him. He placed a lingering kiss on my temple. “Last night—”
I sighed at how easily we slotted together, at how perfectly my name was shaped by his mouth. “You don’t have to explain, Will. I’m sorry I made it weird just now.”
“No, I—”
I pressed two fingers to his lips, wincing. “God, you must hate the postsex processing and I don’t need it, I swear. I can handle all of this.”
His eyes searched my face and I wondered what he was looking for. Did he not believe me? I reached for his jaw and kissed him softly, feeling the tension slip from his body.
His hands came to rest on my hips. “I’m glad you’re okay with this,” he said finally.
“I am, I promise. No weirdness.”
“No weirdness,” he repeated.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The only reason I ever skipped a run was if I was deathly ill or on a plane headed somewhere. So Monday morning, I hated myself a little for shutting off my alarm and rolling back over into the pillow. I just had no interest in seeing Hanna.
But as soon as I had the thought, I had to consider its accuracy. I didn’t want to see Ziggy, bouncing and chatting away as if she hadn’t blown me apart two nights ago with her body and words and needs in the guise of Hanna. And I knew if Ziggy showed up this morning, acting like Saturday night never happened, it would wreck me a little.
I’d been raised by a single mother, with two older sisters who didn’t give me any choice but to understand women, know women, love women. In one of the two serious relationships in my life, I’d talked to my girlfriend about the possibility that this comfort with women worked out pretty well for me when I hit puberty and ended up wanting to have sex with every girl I met. I think that girlfriend had been trying to not-so-subtly hint that I manipulated women by pretending to listen. I didn’t probe the issue much; we broke up pretty soon after that.
But whatever my comfort with the opposite sex, it didn’t seem to help me at all with Hanna. She felt like a separate creature, a separate species. She threw all my experience out the window.
Somehow, when I fell back asleep I started dreaming about f**king her on a giant pile of sports equipment. A lacrosse stick dug into my back but I didn’t care. I just watched her rock on top of me, eyes clear and locked to mine, her hands moving up and around my chest.
My phone buzzed beneath me, wedged into my spine, and I woke with a start. Glancing at my clock, I realized I’d overslept; it was nearly eight thirty. I answered without looking, assuming it was Max asking me where the f**k I was for our Monday morning meeting.
“Yeah, man. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Will?”
Fuck. “Oh, hey.” My heart squeezed so tightly beneath my ribs that I groaned, and ran a hand over my mouth to stifle it.
“You’re still asleep?” Hanna asked. She sounded out of breath.
“I was, yeah.”
She paused, and the wind on the other end whipped through the phone line. She was outside and out of breath. She’d gone running without me. “Sorry to wake you.”
I closed my eyes, pressing a fist to my forehead. “Don’t worry about it.”
She stayed quiet for a few long, painful seconds and in that time we had several different conversations in my head. One where she told me I was being a dick. One where she apologized for implying that I could be so cavalier about the intense night we had. One where she prattled on about nothing in particular, Ziggy-style. And one where she asked if she could come over.
