Fine.
So be it.
Like I said…plenty of empathy within me and I’m a patient woman. I can wait for Zack to work through these things.
Except apparently he doesn’t want to work through it, and the fact that he hurt me has him running scared. Has him pulling away.
Stupid man.
Sweet man.
I’m not sure if I want to hit him or hug him.
I hear the garage door rumble upward, which means Zack is home from the game.
They played the Pittsburgh Titans tonight at home and Ben and I watched it on TV. Well, Ben made it through the first period before he conked out. I lugged him upstairs and put him to bed, then watched the remainder of the game in the living room. The Cold Fury won resoundingly over the Titans and clinched the number one spot in the Eastern Conference.
I went to bed after the game, hoping to fall asleep so I could fast-forward to the next day. I had no expectations that Zack would come to my room, but on the off chance he did, I was sure he’d wake me up nicely.
Except I couldn’t go to sleep. I tossed and turned and fretted over Zack. I want him. I want him as a lover, but I want more from him too. I can’t deny that, but I can suppress it. I would suppress it because Zack doesn’t want that and has been very clear. It’s caused some stress and conflict within me, yet I’m not willing to walk away yet.
The garage door goes down and I listen carefully. With my door closed and being on the second floor, I can’t really hear much of anything. I imagine Zack walking in through the kitchen…tossing mail on the counter. Maybe getting a beer from the fridge. Casually strolling back to his bedroom, closing the door and himself away.
Ugh. I don’t like that image. I don’t like Zack hiding away from me. I need to make him see that I can be available for what he needs and only what he needs. I can stay within the boundaries and he has to respect me when I say that. He has to give that a chance.
I toss my covers back and swing my legs out of bed. I’m not sure what Sutton was thinking when she gave me some of her clothes, but included in the duffel bag were a few silk nighties. Nothing overtly sexual, but they weren’t your grandma’s flannel pajamas.
The one I’m wearing now is really pretty and I think it goes well with my coloring. It’s pale pink, made of satin, and hits at mid-thigh. It’s held up by spaghetti straps and has cream lace edging over the material that sits at my breast. I hesitate for a moment, considering a quick change into my sweatpants, but then decide against it. I’m assuming Zack is in his bedroom now and thus there is no chance of him seeing me. I’ll just make a quick trip down to the kitchen and get a snack. That’s all. Quick in and out, just like I did with the ice cream.
And, if you’re lucky, Zack will still be in the kitchen, I think with no small amount of shame.
I don’t take the back staircase into the kitchen but rather the front that leads down into the foyer and provides me a peek at Zack’s bedroom door. I make it halfway down the stairs and I see that his bedroom door is open and it’s absolutely dark in there.
So he must still be in the kitchen.
I pad quietly through the living room, but before I enter the kitchen, I see the door that leads into the basement is open and the lights are on down there. I can’t hear anything, but I know that’s where Zack is. I wonder if maybe he’s hitting the bottle of tequila again, or maybe he just wants to play some pool.
Nothing holds me back. I want to see Zack tonight. I want to confront him…stand in front of him in my new—previously used—sexy nightie and get a reaction from him. I want to provoke him into making a move on me. And if he doesn’t, at least I’ll know that the door on that opportunity to be with him has closed.
I head down the stairs quietly, my heart galloping with excitement and fear. As soon as I reach the bottom and turn right into the basement, I see him.
He’s sitting in a low-slung leather chair, both hands sitting casually on the armrests, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’s slouched down and his gaze is pinned on the floor. I can tell…he’s come down here to just sit and think. To be alone. It’s written all over his posture and the thoughtful look on his face as he ponders the carpeting.
I take a step forward and the movement catches Zack’s attention. His gaze rises slowly, running up my legs, hovering a moment on my breasts and finally up to my face.
Our eyes lock and I see a war within his eyes. I see desire flickering right along with uncertainty and anger.
“Go to bed, Kate,” he says tiredly.
Not tired because of the game or the late hour, but I can tell…tired because of that war he’s fighting.
I don’t respond, but instead walk toward him. The flames now leap in his eyes and his fingers curl into the edge of the armrest. His hips roll and adjust deeper into the chair and his eyes sweep down and up me again.
“What are you doing?” he asks thickly as I cross the floor.
Words are a waste, in my opinion, and only open this situation up for debate if Zack wants to fight what’s going on between us. So I walk right up to him, putting a little sway in my hips and reveling in the soft satin as it brushes against me.
When I reach his feet, I step right between those shiny black dress shoes he has on, and his legs spread slightly.
“Kate,” Zack warns in a low voice.
I lower to my knees and inch forward, causing his legs to spread apart farther to let me in. My hands come up and rest on his thighs. I feel the heat of him through the dark gray dress pants, and his muscles contract and then relax under my touch.
So be it.
Like I said…plenty of empathy within me and I’m a patient woman. I can wait for Zack to work through these things.
Except apparently he doesn’t want to work through it, and the fact that he hurt me has him running scared. Has him pulling away.
Stupid man.
Sweet man.
I’m not sure if I want to hit him or hug him.
I hear the garage door rumble upward, which means Zack is home from the game.
They played the Pittsburgh Titans tonight at home and Ben and I watched it on TV. Well, Ben made it through the first period before he conked out. I lugged him upstairs and put him to bed, then watched the remainder of the game in the living room. The Cold Fury won resoundingly over the Titans and clinched the number one spot in the Eastern Conference.
I went to bed after the game, hoping to fall asleep so I could fast-forward to the next day. I had no expectations that Zack would come to my room, but on the off chance he did, I was sure he’d wake me up nicely.
Except I couldn’t go to sleep. I tossed and turned and fretted over Zack. I want him. I want him as a lover, but I want more from him too. I can’t deny that, but I can suppress it. I would suppress it because Zack doesn’t want that and has been very clear. It’s caused some stress and conflict within me, yet I’m not willing to walk away yet.
The garage door goes down and I listen carefully. With my door closed and being on the second floor, I can’t really hear much of anything. I imagine Zack walking in through the kitchen…tossing mail on the counter. Maybe getting a beer from the fridge. Casually strolling back to his bedroom, closing the door and himself away.
Ugh. I don’t like that image. I don’t like Zack hiding away from me. I need to make him see that I can be available for what he needs and only what he needs. I can stay within the boundaries and he has to respect me when I say that. He has to give that a chance.
I toss my covers back and swing my legs out of bed. I’m not sure what Sutton was thinking when she gave me some of her clothes, but included in the duffel bag were a few silk nighties. Nothing overtly sexual, but they weren’t your grandma’s flannel pajamas.
The one I’m wearing now is really pretty and I think it goes well with my coloring. It’s pale pink, made of satin, and hits at mid-thigh. It’s held up by spaghetti straps and has cream lace edging over the material that sits at my breast. I hesitate for a moment, considering a quick change into my sweatpants, but then decide against it. I’m assuming Zack is in his bedroom now and thus there is no chance of him seeing me. I’ll just make a quick trip down to the kitchen and get a snack. That’s all. Quick in and out, just like I did with the ice cream.
And, if you’re lucky, Zack will still be in the kitchen, I think with no small amount of shame.
I don’t take the back staircase into the kitchen but rather the front that leads down into the foyer and provides me a peek at Zack’s bedroom door. I make it halfway down the stairs and I see that his bedroom door is open and it’s absolutely dark in there.
So he must still be in the kitchen.
I pad quietly through the living room, but before I enter the kitchen, I see the door that leads into the basement is open and the lights are on down there. I can’t hear anything, but I know that’s where Zack is. I wonder if maybe he’s hitting the bottle of tequila again, or maybe he just wants to play some pool.
Nothing holds me back. I want to see Zack tonight. I want to confront him…stand in front of him in my new—previously used—sexy nightie and get a reaction from him. I want to provoke him into making a move on me. And if he doesn’t, at least I’ll know that the door on that opportunity to be with him has closed.
I head down the stairs quietly, my heart galloping with excitement and fear. As soon as I reach the bottom and turn right into the basement, I see him.
He’s sitting in a low-slung leather chair, both hands sitting casually on the armrests, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’s slouched down and his gaze is pinned on the floor. I can tell…he’s come down here to just sit and think. To be alone. It’s written all over his posture and the thoughtful look on his face as he ponders the carpeting.
I take a step forward and the movement catches Zack’s attention. His gaze rises slowly, running up my legs, hovering a moment on my breasts and finally up to my face.
Our eyes lock and I see a war within his eyes. I see desire flickering right along with uncertainty and anger.
“Go to bed, Kate,” he says tiredly.
Not tired because of the game or the late hour, but I can tell…tired because of that war he’s fighting.
I don’t respond, but instead walk toward him. The flames now leap in his eyes and his fingers curl into the edge of the armrest. His hips roll and adjust deeper into the chair and his eyes sweep down and up me again.
“What are you doing?” he asks thickly as I cross the floor.
Words are a waste, in my opinion, and only open this situation up for debate if Zack wants to fight what’s going on between us. So I walk right up to him, putting a little sway in my hips and reveling in the soft satin as it brushes against me.
When I reach his feet, I step right between those shiny black dress shoes he has on, and his legs spread slightly.
“Kate,” Zack warns in a low voice.
I lower to my knees and inch forward, causing his legs to spread apart farther to let me in. My hands come up and rest on his thighs. I feel the heat of him through the dark gray dress pants, and his muscles contract and then relax under my touch.
