Page 61 of The Downside of Love
Christ.
Her face once again falls flat, and I hate that I’m not good at this shit. I don’t know what to tell her without revealing my true feelings, without telling her that there is nothing I want to do more than go home to her apartment—to our comfortable sanctuary—and take her in my arms, spread her beautiful legs out on the bed, and bury myself deep inside her.And never leave.
I want to hear my name fall off her lips, while my hips thrust in and out of her.
I want to know what it feels like to have her trapped beneath my body, her passionate moans urging me to move faster, to drive harder.
I want to know what it feels like to have her come apart on my tongue, on my cock, to feel her tighten around me.
But I can’t.
I’ll never know.
Because she’s not mine, and she’ll never feel that way toward me.
Silence falls between us while she searches my eyes for a few beats before sighing and turning away, pulling her casserole dish from the fridge with the rest of her salad.
“Here, let me help you,” I offer, coming up behind her.
“I got it, Stryder.” There is a bite in her tone, and for the first time since I’ve reconnected with Rory, I’m nervous things have shifted badly.
She walks toward the entryway, slips on her sandals, and opens the door. Without turning around, she says, “Will you say bye to Ryan for me?” She doesn’t wait for an answer as she lets the door shut behind her, the click a finality to our conversation.
Shit.
Knowing I shouldn’t, but unable to let her leave like this, I slip on my shoes and hurry down the stairs to the parking lot where I catch Rory placing her items in the car.
“Wait,” I call out, jogging up to her.
Shocked, Rory straightens up next to her small VW Bug and watches me.Wary.When I reach her, I’m not really sure what I’m going to say, but I know one thing: she’s not leaving here like this . . .upset.
Taking her by the waist, I pull her into a hug, my arms wrapping around her back, holding her close to my body.
“I don’t know why things are weird between us,” I say honestly. “But I don’t want you to be upset. I don’t want you to see me and not give me a hug. I don’t want you to feel awkward around me.”
“I don’t want that either,” she says softly, her voice just about breaking me with the heaviness laced through each word.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pressing my hand into her hair, loving how the soft strands feel falling through my fingers.
Looking at me, she asks, “Why are you sorry?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea, just that I’m sorry that there has been a shift in our relationship. I don’t like not talking to you. I hate seeing us struggle to find words for each other, or to see you walk out the door without giving me a hug goodbye. That just about killed me. So, I’m sorry if I drove you to do that.”
“You didn’t.” She shakes her head. “I just . . .” She shakes her head again. “Forget it. It’s really stupid, and I’d rather you not think of me as stupid right now.”
“Bet you I won’t. Lay it on me.”
“No.” She laughs. “It’s really, really stupid and the more I think about it, the more I’m embarrassed the thought even crossed my mind.”
I twist a lock of her hair around my finger and smile. “Now you have to tell me.”
“Never.”
“What?” I squeeze her. “Come on, just tell me.”
“No, because you’ll judge me, and I don’t want you to judge me.”
I tug on the strand of hair I’ve been twisting. “How about I promise I won’t judge you? Just tell me.”
