Waking Up (30 page)

Jesus, she felt good in my arms.  On my lap.  Her lips, so soft and enticing against mine.  I knew I should have stopped what she started, but I’m just a man.  A man who felt like he had been starving for years and was finally offered forbidden food.  She was delectable.  I could have kissed her for hours, savored the feeling of her body pressed against mine.  The warmth that spread through me had nothing to do with being turned on.

Adriana makes me feel.  Makes me care.  And I need to keep that to myself.  She made it clear that she regretted what happened.  It was a mistake.  She was wrapped up in her memories.  She was thinking about Alex when she kissed me.

She was kissing Alex.  Not me.  Alex.

Groaning, I lay back on the bed.  My chest hurts.  I’d like to say it’s heart burn or indigestion, but I know it’s pain from knowing that Adriana wasn’t kissing me today.  She was using me to feel him.  It’s been tearing at me all day.

I’ve wanted to run back to Vancouver since it happened, but I told her I’d stay.  It’s only because of that that I’m here.

I thought I’d be the one to hurt her.  I never thought I’d be lying here in a dark room, praying for sleep to avoid the gaping hole she blew open in my heart.  I’ve always kept a wall around it, but somehow she walked right through.

While sleep eludes me, I think back on the day, trying to stop thinking about her in my arms, her lips on mine, her legs wrapped around me.  But the more I try not to think about it, the more I do.

Knowing she’s in a bed a few rooms away from me isn’t helping.  I want to go to her.  Be with her.  Even if I only get to hold her.  I’d settle for that.  I’d settle for any contact I can have.

Contact.  A simple word to say, but so hard to actually obtain.

I know I have to stick to my word.  I told her I’d be better.  But, the rest of the day was hell on me.  I vaguely paid attention while she showed me around the house.  My mind kept going back to her lips.  I couldn’t focus on anything else as she spoke.  I could tell she was proud as she told me about her house, but all I saw was her mouth.

Craved her touch, her kiss.  I couldn’t keep my attention on her words no matter how I tried.  It’s not to say I wasn’t impressed by the beauty of her home.  But it hurt me as she showed me the rooms that were meant to be filled with the children her and Alex were meant to have.

I could picture their children.  Beautiful little girls with strawberry hair and hazel eyes just like their mom and golden skinned boys with blonde hair and green eyes.  I envisioned Adriana playing tea party and putting the girls in dresses, fixing their hair.  Envisioned Alex teaching the boys how to play football, baseball, whatever sports they wanted to play.  

I could see Adriana with her stomach swollen with his child even more gorgeous than she already is.  Alex knelt before her, hands on her, kissing around her stomach, talking to the baby inside while she stares at him with love.  

It threatened to drop me to my knees because, yet again, I was on the outside looking in.  As she talked about the rooms that were supposed to be nurseries, I saw how it hurts her still.  Cripples her.  I was busy thinking of how much I would love to see her stomach rounded with my baby and she was lost in her pain of never having his baby.

My heart shatters knowing I will never be what she wants.  I may be what she thinks she needs to help her mask her pain, but I know I’m too selfish of a person to be used like that.  What is so wrong with me that no one can love me?  Why am I never enough?

When she stopped outside her bedroom door, my heart stopped and then started racing.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to go in there.  Could I handle being in the room where I know she sleeps without getting turned on?  Could I see her bed without wanting to throw her on it?

She turned to look at me and I saw fear in her eyes and I knew that I didn’t want her to open that door.  She didn’t want to open that door.  I didn’t know what her reasons were and I wasn’t asking.

“I think this is where the tour ends and I’m famished.  How ‘bout you?”

The look of relief that washed over her face is instant.  I felt like I overcame a small hurdle here, but her face folds again as we walk by a couple of the nursery doors heading back toward the stairs.  She tried to mask her feelings, but her eyes gave it all away.  They told me that showing the house opened many old wounds.

Still, I couldn’t touch her– hold her, as I wanted to.  She needed comfort and I couldn’t offer that because I told her I would be better.  I had to watch her ache for her husband, for the children she could never have with him, and I could do nothing about it.

It sucked.

I fell in love with the pool.  Now I knew what the structure out in her back yard is.  It’s as gorgeous inside as it is from the outside.  The all glass surrounding keeps the light filtering in and she has trees potted in several areas giving it a tropical feel.  I’ve always loved the water.  Even growing up not seeing it much.  It calms me.

I wish I could go for a swim with her, but I can’t.  I can’t chance her seeing the tattoo.  I hurt her enough today when I didn’t stop the kiss.

Why does everything come back to that damn kiss?

Lunch was tense.  We tried making small talk, getting to know each other better, but it felt forced.  I kept watching her stare at her plate like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen.  I know she’s embarrassed about what happened between us earlier.  I want to tell her not to feel that way.  Tell her how much I enjoyed it.  How alive I felt.  How turned on I was and that it took every damned bit of will power I had to stop, but I worry it will only make things worse... more awkward.

She keeps pushing her food around her plate, not really eating it.  I’m doing the same.  My normally massive appetite gone.  The food has lost its flavor.  

I thought after we talked earlier that things would be alright between us, but after the tour we seem to have run out of things to say.  Not that I said much while I followed her room to room.  I mainly grunted and added in oohs and ahhs where I deemed necessary.

I don’t know how to get back to the comfortable rhythm we had before, the easy banter that came naturally.  I crave it now, but I fear we’ve lost it and it won’t come back.  

For what feels like the thousandth time, I peek at her to see she’s still pushing her food around her plate, the sound of her fork scraping on her plate grating on my nerves.  We’ve sat in here not eating, barely speaking for too long and I’ve had enough.  I stand up, still unable to speak, and walk over to her.

Her eyes get large watching me walk her way.  I can see expectation in them, but what she expects I have no idea and I’m in no mood to play guessing games.  I promised her better and that’s what I’m going to be.

“You don’t seem very hungry,” I say, taking her plate and walking away from her.  I hear her sigh, but I don’t have it in me to go back to her.  If I did, she’d know.  Know that she hurt me this morning and that’s unacceptable.

It’s not just my heart I need to protect.    

I make quick work of clearing our barely touched plates and put them in the dishwasher hoping I can make a break for my room before she comes my way, but luck has never been on my side.  Why should today be any different?

“Tucker,” she says, her voice so soft I almost don’t hear her.  I don’t want to turn around, but I’m powerless to ignore her.  I have to take a second.  One second to gather the strength I need to not let her see the hurt in my heart over her rejection.  Over her using me.  She may not realize what she did, but I know.  She used me to feel him today.  The more I think about it, the more it sours my stomach.

As amazing as she felt in my arms, as right as it seemed, and as much as it felt like coming home having her there– it wasn’t.  Her home is Alex even though he’ll never come home to her again.  She’s not ready to accept that.

I need to accept that.

Pushing myself away from the counter, I put on my acting face as I turn to face her.  I hate that, once again, she can’t look at me.  That she’s gone back to being shy and feels the floor is more interesting than I am.  I know that isn’t true.  I really do, but I’m still reeling from this morning and can’t be rational at this point.  Dammit.  I’m thinking like a fucking chick.  When did I grow a vagina?

Watching her wringing her hands, I realize in a couple days I already know her ticks, the signs that tell me when she’s nervous.  I can read her body language.  I’m too in tune with her and I need to pull back.  She doesn’t want me.  She wants me to be him.  And I can’t do that.  I’m not willing to do that.

I’ve gone my whole life not being loved by the person I wanted, needed, to love me.  I can’t be someone I’m not.  Even if she is the first women to make me truly feel anything.  I can’t.  Can’t be non-existent to her.  A replacement.  Someone to make her feel when she gets excited about remembering and then toss aside when it gets to be too much.  A couple week jog down memory lane.

I want to be better than this.  There’s that word again.  
Better.
  But, hurt has taken over and anger has seeped in.  I want to be away from her and, instead, I’m standing here, waiting for her, yet again, to find her words.

I know grief is a bitch.  I’ve lost people I love, too.  I don’t know what it’s like to lose a spouse.  I imagine it’s very different than losing a parent.  It’s a different love.  But, right now, I want to shake her.  At the very least, tell her to spit it out so I can go to my room and have a few moments of peace.  Where I’m not constantly aware of her.

Aware of everything about her.  Her hair, how it shines in the light and how the light changes the color from blonde to red.  Her eyes, how they’re a different color every time I look at them.  I don’t know if it’s because of her emotions or if I see her differently each time I look at her.  Her lips, how I want to kiss them, claim them as mine.  I’m drawn to them like a moth to a flame.  Each time she speaks it’s pure torture, making me that much more aware of the perfection calling out to be kissed.

I can’t even start thinking about her body or my pants will start to tent making her aware of my roaming thoughts.  I’m aware of everything about her.  Every curve and how they move as she walks beckoning my touch.  I’m aware of her voice and how it goes up and down when she’s excited or nervous or happy and even when she’s sad.  And her laugh, that laugh rolls through my entire body, lighting me up like a fucking Christmas tree.  Especially when she snorts.  She’s my bliss.

And all I am is her camouflage.

I can’t take standing here in silence anymore.  I’d like to say I’m above running away from her so she won’t feel bad, but I need to be away from her.  I need this conversation over.  If she’s going to rip my heart to shreds some more, I want her to get it the fuck over with so I can go lick my wounds in solitude.

Preferably away from her.

“Adriana, is there something I can do for you?  I have some work calls I need to make and e-mail to check.”  The excuse sounds weak coming from my mouth, but I can’t stop it.  I do want to check in with Eddie, but it has nothing to do with work.  I need to talk to my best friend about the messed up thoughts going on in my head.

For the first time since the tour, her eyes meet mine, hurt shining through.  Her pain shoots straight to my heart and I feel like an ass knowing I caused it.  

I want to touch her.  Caress her cheek, hug her, soothe her, tell her I don’t mean to be distant, but I can’t.  I’m trying to protect both of us and this is the only way I know how.  I only hope she can forgive me when all is said and done.

I watch as her eyes search for answers in my face.  They flitter from side to side, pleading with me, I can only assume to make this awkwardness to go away.  If only I knew how.  I would take it all away and make her happy if I knew how.  I’d give anything to see my angel smile.

Her hand starts to reach for me, but she stops.  I long for that contact, but I’m glad she didn’t touch me.  I’m strung tight as a spring about to let loose.  One touch and I might go back on my word, the tether breaking on the thin rope holding me together around her.

“Are we okay, Tucker?” she questions, unable to keep my gaze.

I want to be honest.  Tell her no, we are definitely not okay, but seeing her playing with the hem of her tank top, shuffling her feet, and staring at the floor lodges the words in my throat.  It’s taking every bit of restraint I have to not put my finger under her chin and force her to look at me.

Maybe it’s better this way.  She won’t see me lie to her.

“Yeah. Adriana, we’re okay,” I lie, suddenly finding the floor interesting myself.  It’s hard to look at someone when you aren’t being honest with them.

“Are you sure?”  Her whispering voice brings my head up and I’m met with misted over almost green eyes.  My resolve is cracking seeing her trying not to cry.  Fuck.  I hate myself that this pain is because of me.

I quickly shove my hands into my pockets.  Grams always told me a man is only as good as his word.  My word is about to become shit if she keeps looking at me with those sad eyes.  How the hell does she disarm me without saying a word… without touching me?

“I’m sure,” I breathe out.  “Just have some stuff from back home I need to check on.”  I try to smile at her, but I know it doesn’t make it to my eyes.  It was forced and I’m sure she saw it, too.  I’ve never been a liar.  I may be an actor, but I’m not a liar.

“What time will your friends be here?”  I honestly don’t care and really don’t want to do movie night with them, but it was one of the few things she actually spoke about at lunch.  I wish I could find a way out of it and wallow in my room the rest of the day, let her hang with them tonight.  I don’t want my misery on display.

“Seven-ish.”

I nod and walk around her, careful to avoid contact.  I don’t ask if we’ll have dinner together.  I don’t say anything else.

“I’ll be in my room reading if you need anything, Tucker,” she says the words so quickly I know that she’s grasping for a conversation with me.  I wish I could give her more right now, but I can’t.