Page 165 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
Suddenly, the sunlight stopped glowing and started to burn.
Sweat broke out across my forehead, and I felt one, then two stomach rolls form as I twisted away. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs, and it was just all too much.
I tried to sit up, but the sheet was wrapped around my leg and my arm was lodged under Tal’s side pinning me to the bed. My brain screamed, Stop! You have to stop! But I couldn’t get a single sound out of my mouth. Tal’s face had started to twist in confusion and shock, but it was too late.
By then, I couldn’t breathe at all. Everything dimmed, then went black around me . . .
IT PROBABLY SAID something about Tal that right before the second time we’d slept together, I’d passed out with a panic attack. I still didn’t know if he knew the real reason behind my momentary lapse of consciousness that morning, but I’d explained it as low blood sugar. By the time he’d brought a bagel and a glass of orange juice, I’d pulled myself together enough to tug a camisole over my head, engage in a damn hot make-out session, and eventually give him the blow job of his life.
Ah, memories.
I closed my eyes, trying to breathe deeply and focus. This wasn’t that morning, and I was not about to have a panic attack. Not after how far Tal and I had come.
Still, it was always the mornings in bed that made that particular one come rushing back, and this one was no different—except that Tal wasn’t here this time to make me feel covered and safe. I’d dozed off after some particularly athletic sex in the wee hours of the morning, and fallen asleep with the sheets tangled up beneath me, leaving me completely uncovered in the flooding morning sun.
I’d never woken up here without still being tangled up with Tal, snuggled in his bed. I knew that when I slept alone in my own bed, I tossed and turned and threw the sheets, my PJs tangled up with all the layers of bedding and blankets. It was different to feel the twist of sheets against bare skin. Something I wasn’t sure I liked.
My eye traveled up my body, and I smiled—my skin really did glow. I’d always loved the color, a perfect blend of warm brown from my mom and peachy pink from my dad. I didn’t even hate my curves like I used to—I’d learned to appreciate the swinging heaviness of my breasts against my ribs—more to fill up a sexy bra with. Beautiful bras were one of Tal’s favorite things. Thanks to my strict lights-out policy, a lacy bra and panties were the closest he ever got to seeing me fully naked.
But then my gaze fell on my arm, stretched out across the space where Tal would normally be lying. As soon as it caught the tip of the light pink scar clawing its way across my inside forearm, I squeezed my eyes shut.
And my vision filled with the face of the last guy on the planet I should have been thinking of at that moment—the guy responsible for those scars.
Asshole.
I swallowed hard.
A loud click at the bedroom door sent my hand grabbing at the sheet. I yanked it up over my boobs, my heart racing again. Tal nudged the door open with a wooden breakfast tray, bearing homemade waffles and orange juice. As happy as I was to see the food, I fought to smile and look normal. I couldn’t believe he almost saw me in all my daylight morning glory.
Maybe I was getting a little too comfortable with him.
Tal approached the bed, wearing just his blue cotton pajama bottoms and his thick-rimmed glasses, holding the tray steady against his flat stomach. I couldn’t tell which looked more delicious—those waffles or what was framing them. It took all my self-control not to lick my lips.
There was no doubt I was in serious lust with Tal—I practically drooled every time I saw him. I even liked hanging out with him—we were on a finishing-each-other’s-sentences and can-sit-in-silence-together comfort level. But love? That was taking a little longer. Somehow we hadn’t gotten around to saying that word yet—the four-letter word all my friends wanted their boyfriends to say.
The crazy thing was that as incredibly hot as Tal was, the sex was just . . . missing something. This boy naked was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen, and him naked and on top of me felt even better. The sex was fun, and sometimes I even came—hard. But there was something intangible that I wanted to be there, to make that one last little piece of conne
ction click into place, to make it really explode. I just didn’t know what that was.
Maybe being able to say those three little words would make all the difference.
Tal set the tray down and handed me a glass of orange juice, which forced me to sit up and take it. “Don’t spill,” I said. “Gloria will kill you.”
“Nah,” he said, flashing that dimple that melted me every time. “Gloria loves bleaching my sheets.”
Gloria was Tal’s housekeeper. Yeah—housekeeper. Having a dad who was a partner at one of LA’s biggest law firms and a mom who used her phenom computer skills to make a fortune in the dotcom gold rush mean that his parents not only bought him a condo for his three-year stay at USC law school, but also hired a housekeeper to go with it.
Tal eased onto the bed on the other side of the tray to face me. I watched his forearms flex as he cut a big bite of the waffle and lifted it up under a cupped hand to catch any dripping syrup. He brought it to my mouth and reflex made it drop open. His lips mimicked mine as they closed around the fork, and the taste was so rich and delicious that I closed my eyes when I tasted it.
Tal watched me, his eyes lit up with quiet affection.
“Talcott Carroll,” I said, finally taking my first deep breath, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to keep me in your bed all morning.”
He took a bite of his own, chewing slowly before answering with a wicked smile. “Obviously that’s exactly what’s going on here. Are you going to protest? It’s Sunday morning, and you have something to celebrate.” His olive-green eyes smiled into mine, and I melted.
I bent toward him for a kiss, my hand clutching the sheet over my breasts. This was not going to work out too well for eating. I let my lips linger against his before murmuring, “Toss me a shirt?” Tal gave me a soft smile, then eased out of bed to grab what he knew was my favorite—a worn heather-gray shirt with “Wellington Lacrosse” emblazoned across the front. As I pulled it over my head, my heart jumped at the exquisite soreness between my legs. Yeah, last night was pretty good—it involved my legs straight up in the air at one point, and me straddling his lap at another. I distinctly remembered some very sexy growls coming from both of us. I wouldn’t have minded another round.
“I do have something to celebrate, don’t I?” My neck and cheeks flushed with pride, remembering how awesome it felt to open that letter that told me I’d been accepted into the USC Psy-D program. A doctorate of psychology would pave the way for me to work with young women who hated their bodies as much as I used to.
