Page 166 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
Luckily, I hadn’t been as ballsy as I’d been depressed.
“Yes, we must celebrate,” Tal murmured, pushing the tray to the side and crawling toward me on the bed, letting his hands walk along my sides on the mattress. I kept the sheet clutched to my boobs and smiled as I lay back. He pressed his lips to mine, and lowered himself over me. When he did, our teeth clacked together, and we both pulled back, laughing.
“See?” he said, resting on my side and pushing a chunk of wavy caramel hair away from my eyes. “Even when we’re clumsy, it’s still sexy.” His hand slid around my waist and grabbed my hip, pulling me close to him—one of his signature moves I adored. His mouth dove to mine again, and I smiled against his lips. After a few minutes of relishing the feel of his fingers tangling in my hair while his tongue teased against mine, I let my body fall back on the bed and smiled up at him. He propped his forehead against my temple and a happy hum vibrated through his throat. Lord, he was so sexy. I didn’t even care about morning breath—I just wanted to taste those lips on mine again. I pushed my fingers through his hair and tried to pull him back to me.
“Anna,” he said, pulling back to keep the space between us. The way he said my name was hypnotizing, and he knew it. I was under his spell. “You’re going to be here at USC another two years and so am I. And I’m fucking lonely in this condo all by myself.”
“Not with me here.” I giggled again, smacking a kiss to his mouth. “I’m here all the time.”
“So why not make it permanent? Your lease is up in two months.”
My heart kicked again, racing completely out of my control and definitely not in a good way. Even if I’d wanted to keep my eyes from flying wide open, I couldn’t have. I pushed up from the mattress, still clutching the sheet to me. “You want me to move in with you,” I half whispered. It wasn’t a question. I was just trying to wrap my head around it.
But Tal looked steadily into my eyes, seemingly unfazed. “You don’t have to give me an answer yet. Just think about it.”
Suddenly, the dreamy glow of the room turned to something uncomfortably warm. I racked my brain, trying to think if I had any study groups on my schedule for a Sunday afternoon, or if I had promised to have coffee with any friends. Anything to distract me. Then I remembered.
My hand flew to my cheek. “Shit,” I said, scooting to the edge of the bed, my sheet in tow. “I have a show at two. I almost forgot.”
Playing the guitar was a hobby, but playing and singing my covers and original songs at one of the hippie USC coffeehouses was one way my therapist suggested I get back out there after what happened last year. Turned out that my self-confidence had been shittier than I’d thought. I should never have let myself hate my body so much that it spiraled into what it had.
Shut up, I scolded myself. You’re slipping back into blaming yourself.
I took a deep breath. I could almost hear my therapist’s voice in my head, telling me that there was a lot coming at me at this moment, reminding me to deal with it one thing at a time. Tal let out a short chuckle, but his eyes never left my face. I knew Tal well enough to know that laugh was hiding his stress. God, I hated to hurt him. But I just couldn’t stomach the idea of living with him until I knew for sure that I loved him. I knew I couldn’t love him until he knew everything about me. And he wouldn’t know everything about me until I got the courage to tell him.
He was going to hate me for lying to him.
Our first morning-after, I had propped my head up with my hand on the pillow next to him. The goddamn thing practically grinned at him, and even though Tal was always polite, I could tell it bugged him. Maybe scared him a little. Everyone knows that pink scars are recent ones. So he’d asked. Gently, of course, but it still made my stomach roil when his eyes followed the pink streak curving across my golden skin.
Months ago, I’d done an Internet search for “good excuses for my scars.” A knot inside my stomach had untwisted when I found a site with a ton of suggestions, then quickly tucked them in the back of my brain just so I’d be prepared. Given that I lived with two of my best friends in a little house from the thirties, the “I knocked on the plate glass in our door really hard and the window shattered and a huge shard got stuck in my forearm” excuse worked decently enough, and I was almost certain he’d believed me. That was a relief in the moment, but turned into a bigger burden every day.
The lines that marked my arms were grownup scars, but I couldn’t be grown up enough to tell him the truth. I certainly didn’t feel grown up enough to move in with him—to love him—if I couldn’t tell him that truth. The worst part was that none of it was Tal’s fault—he’d only ever been understanding, patient, and kind. But, the longer we dated, the more I realized that my internal scars ran just as deep as my external ones.
Tal was right—my lease ending didn’t just mean the end of my rental agreement. It meant I was growing up—graduating from undergrad, moving into a career. Maybe it was time to try being honest with this sweet, sexy guy I almost-loved. Maybe if I found the courage to do that, I could let myself love him.
I took a deep breath, standing up and motioning for him to come hug me. I snaked my arms around his waist, loving the way his lower back muscles moved under my hands. With my cheek pressed against his chest and his arms holding me tight, I blew out a shuddering breath. Even though my stomach flopped, I said it anyway. “Talk tonight?”
He kissed the top of my head, then my cheek, a move so full of love I wanted my heart to burst with it. Maybe it would. Tonight.
TAL ONLY CAME to my shows occasionally, for a couple reasons—the songs were almost always the same, first year law students always had a ton of work to do, and it honestly didn’t bother me if he wasn’t there. Playing was something I did for me, something that helped me even if I didn’t share it with anyone. Old Blue, my robin’s-egg painted guitar, and I had a special relationship. I’d strummed my anger and pain out on her, and I know it wasn’t pretty, and she still helped me make beautiful music for a few listeners once or twice a month.
Getting through another show. Ten points. I smiled wryly.
Points had been running through my head ever since I was a little girl—twelve or thirteen—and had started to curve out. Suddenly, the curve of my butt and the pooch of my stomach were topics of conversation; things that ran in the family, things we could work on.
Mom said that she wanted us to start that weight loss program so that both of us could get healthier. Together. That day, the points started. A low-fat turkey sandwich got me points. Eating the blueberries she carted around with her in a portable cooler had so many points! Ice cream subtracted a kabillion points so we would never, ever be eating that.
Slowly, it started to feel like everything had points. Going for a run got me points. Going up a bra size lost them. Getting a date to prom got me points, as did wearing heels to prom. Not getting kissed because my date was gay lost them.
As I went through college, I tried to say, “Fuck you” to those points a little more every day—that’s why I’d done the nude photo shoot last year. But look where that had gotten me.
There were just a few post-brunch stragglers left in the shop after the show. I smiled and gave Old Blue an affectionate pat as I lowered her into her case, rolling my wrist and stretching my shoulder when I stood up.
“Looks like you need a massage,” Tal’s smooth tenor said from the middle of the room. I grinned as he headed toward me and hoisted Old Blue’s case over his shoulder, circling my shoulders with his other arm and pulling me in for a slow, sweet kiss.
“Let me take you home,” he said in my ear. “I’ll take care of you.”
The way he said ?
