“I let you in here for reasons I can’t even comprehend.” He shoots me a vexed look, his expression bleak and dire.
I laugh, figuring he’s playing with me. “I can’t lose this chance, Aaric. I really want this. It’s easy for you to string me along when you’ve never lost anything at all.”
“I’ve lost something.”
It’s not just the words, but the tone he uses that makes me sit up straighter. I’m too surprised to do more than drink in the stormy, shadowed look in his eyes. Shit. I hit a sore spot. Way to go, Bryn. Nice way to endear yourself to him.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Fuck. I’m sorry too.” He scrapes a hand down his face, sweat glistening all across his gorgeous body.
“So what was it? That you lost.” Suddenly—belatedly—I remember his mother and I want to slap myself for speaking so abruptly.
“Somebody,” he says.
Your mom, I think. “You loved her.”
“Aside from my mom,” he adds. “Yes, but I never got the chance to love her. She died when she was born.”
Shock makes my eyes flare wide open. Whaaat? “You had a daughter?”
He meets my gaze and I see everything I need to see in his eyes.
“And your wife?”
“Not wife. Friend.”
“What happened?”
“She got depressed, left my life, fell in love later, got married. We talk occasionally.”
“Oh. I’m glad.” I glance away, then back at him. “I’m sorry about that.”
He nods as he looks at me.
I just stare back at him, suddenly understanding more.
My heart is doing weird things in my chest. I want to embrace him. I want to run away from him. I want to open up and talk more about our losses. I want to pretend we’ve never lost a thing.
I swallow.
He leans back, the move sort of implying he doesn’t want to speak more about it.
Patting my face with the towel, my breathing fast as my body keeps on sweating and I keep spewing out feelings as if they’re attached to my sweat.
“See, sometimes I’m feeling lonely like nothing will ever turn out my way. I feel different, like a red ink stain on a page full of gold dots.”
“I know what you mean. I used to feel like I was a tear on a page, not a red ink stain though.”
“Why? Like you tore the page?”
“Yep.”
“Like you’re the tear on a page?”
“Yep.”
“Wow, that’s awful. Are you okay?”
“Obviously I’m not.”
“Yeah. Sigh.” I laugh.
“Go on. You were saying,” he prods.
“Oh nothing, only that all these feelings go away when you’re close.”
Shadows darken his eyes, as if my comment gets to him.
“Why is that.” His stare becomes intense enough to singe me to my bones.
“Because another feeling comes in when you’re close and it’s all I can feel. Like a glass of oil is overflowing with water until the oil overflows and then it’s just the most fresh and hydrating water.”
“I’m the water in your glass.” He starts to smile in bemusement, but his gaze doesn’t lose one single bit of its intensity.
I laugh. “You fill my glass. I suppose you’re the water too.”
He grins even more, like this is the best compliment he’s ever gotten.
He leans forward, his gaze level with mine. We’re both glistening with droplets of steam and sweat, but his stare is the most heavenly thing I’ve ever seen look at me. So serious, so sure. “I had no idea,” he says, the green in his eyes more vivid than ever, “how much I missed you, bit.”
It’s so intense I drop my gaze and pull it back to his, my stomach sort of turning in on itself. “Why. Do I fill your glass too?”
“Not sure.” He winks, smirking. “Maybe you just fill my well, girl.”
I laugh, and he chuckles, and we sort of spend the next minutes in silence, our smiles lingering on our faces.
By the time we leave the sauna, I feel good. Physically, I’m relaxed, but emotionally, I’m in a bit of chaos/confused mode. Christos offers to drive me home, but I decline. An hour later, a message appears on my phone.
Tomorrow. Next appointment. 8 p.m. @ Peasant (Nolita). Be there.
I’m so there.
Midnight text to BFF:
Do you remember when you stole into the guys’ locker room to chase after Lyle?
Becka: No. I promptly forgot that when the coach found me before Lyle did and called my parents about what a perv I was.
Me: Okay, forget that part. Imagine that you’d found Lyle. In nothing but this tiny towel. Like a fig leaf, that small.
Becka: Okay, what’s going on?
Me: It’s Christo’s fault. We went to a sauna and…we went to a sauna.
Becka: And? Dish out!!!
Me: And…muscular man. Tiny towel! Heat and sweat? Ugh. I’m still squirming inside.
Becka: Baby girl, that’s hot! I vote you go impale yourself on Christos. I sure as hell remember he’d like that.
Me: Not anymore. He’s taken, okay.
Lucky bitch
Becka: All is fair in love and war.
Me: It’s not love.
Becka: What is it?
Me: Terrible
Terrible lust
Becka: Was he really muscled? He was skinny before. No?
Me: You have NO idea the muscles he packs. And I won’t even get into the SHAPE of what was under his towel.
Becka: Now who’s the perv! HA!
Me: Lucky I don’t have a principal after me. (But maybe an angry girlfriend if she ever found out her man was with me in a sauna? I’d be jealous out of my mind!)
I laugh, figuring he’s playing with me. “I can’t lose this chance, Aaric. I really want this. It’s easy for you to string me along when you’ve never lost anything at all.”
“I’ve lost something.”
It’s not just the words, but the tone he uses that makes me sit up straighter. I’m too surprised to do more than drink in the stormy, shadowed look in his eyes. Shit. I hit a sore spot. Way to go, Bryn. Nice way to endear yourself to him.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Fuck. I’m sorry too.” He scrapes a hand down his face, sweat glistening all across his gorgeous body.
“So what was it? That you lost.” Suddenly—belatedly—I remember his mother and I want to slap myself for speaking so abruptly.
“Somebody,” he says.
Your mom, I think. “You loved her.”
“Aside from my mom,” he adds. “Yes, but I never got the chance to love her. She died when she was born.”
Shock makes my eyes flare wide open. Whaaat? “You had a daughter?”
He meets my gaze and I see everything I need to see in his eyes.
“And your wife?”
“Not wife. Friend.”
“What happened?”
“She got depressed, left my life, fell in love later, got married. We talk occasionally.”
“Oh. I’m glad.” I glance away, then back at him. “I’m sorry about that.”
He nods as he looks at me.
I just stare back at him, suddenly understanding more.
My heart is doing weird things in my chest. I want to embrace him. I want to run away from him. I want to open up and talk more about our losses. I want to pretend we’ve never lost a thing.
I swallow.
He leans back, the move sort of implying he doesn’t want to speak more about it.
Patting my face with the towel, my breathing fast as my body keeps on sweating and I keep spewing out feelings as if they’re attached to my sweat.
“See, sometimes I’m feeling lonely like nothing will ever turn out my way. I feel different, like a red ink stain on a page full of gold dots.”
“I know what you mean. I used to feel like I was a tear on a page, not a red ink stain though.”
“Why? Like you tore the page?”
“Yep.”
“Like you’re the tear on a page?”
“Yep.”
“Wow, that’s awful. Are you okay?”
“Obviously I’m not.”
“Yeah. Sigh.” I laugh.
“Go on. You were saying,” he prods.
“Oh nothing, only that all these feelings go away when you’re close.”
Shadows darken his eyes, as if my comment gets to him.
“Why is that.” His stare becomes intense enough to singe me to my bones.
“Because another feeling comes in when you’re close and it’s all I can feel. Like a glass of oil is overflowing with water until the oil overflows and then it’s just the most fresh and hydrating water.”
“I’m the water in your glass.” He starts to smile in bemusement, but his gaze doesn’t lose one single bit of its intensity.
I laugh. “You fill my glass. I suppose you’re the water too.”
He grins even more, like this is the best compliment he’s ever gotten.
He leans forward, his gaze level with mine. We’re both glistening with droplets of steam and sweat, but his stare is the most heavenly thing I’ve ever seen look at me. So serious, so sure. “I had no idea,” he says, the green in his eyes more vivid than ever, “how much I missed you, bit.”
It’s so intense I drop my gaze and pull it back to his, my stomach sort of turning in on itself. “Why. Do I fill your glass too?”
“Not sure.” He winks, smirking. “Maybe you just fill my well, girl.”
I laugh, and he chuckles, and we sort of spend the next minutes in silence, our smiles lingering on our faces.
By the time we leave the sauna, I feel good. Physically, I’m relaxed, but emotionally, I’m in a bit of chaos/confused mode. Christos offers to drive me home, but I decline. An hour later, a message appears on my phone.
Tomorrow. Next appointment. 8 p.m. @ Peasant (Nolita). Be there.
I’m so there.
Midnight text to BFF:
Do you remember when you stole into the guys’ locker room to chase after Lyle?
Becka: No. I promptly forgot that when the coach found me before Lyle did and called my parents about what a perv I was.
Me: Okay, forget that part. Imagine that you’d found Lyle. In nothing but this tiny towel. Like a fig leaf, that small.
Becka: Okay, what’s going on?
Me: It’s Christo’s fault. We went to a sauna and…we went to a sauna.
Becka: And? Dish out!!!
Me: And…muscular man. Tiny towel! Heat and sweat? Ugh. I’m still squirming inside.
Becka: Baby girl, that’s hot! I vote you go impale yourself on Christos. I sure as hell remember he’d like that.
Me: Not anymore. He’s taken, okay.
Lucky bitch
Becka: All is fair in love and war.
Me: It’s not love.
Becka: What is it?
Me: Terrible
Terrible lust
Becka: Was he really muscled? He was skinny before. No?
Me: You have NO idea the muscles he packs. And I won’t even get into the SHAPE of what was under his towel.
Becka: Now who’s the perv! HA!
Me: Lucky I don’t have a principal after me. (But maybe an angry girlfriend if she ever found out her man was with me in a sauna? I’d be jealous out of my mind!)
