Page 77 of Perfect Distraction
When he was sure his stomach had nothing else to throw up, he pushed himself backward and leaned his back against the bathtub. He covered his face with trembling hands and waited until his heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm and his breathing evened out.
After several minutes he flushed the toilet and stood. He refused to look at himself in the mirror as he covered his toothbrush generously with toothpaste, knowing he might never leave the bathroom if he saw his reflection. He scrubbed his mouth thoroughly and rinsed, and then did it again.
When he opened the door and took in the woman before him, his heart shattered into a million pieces. Lauren was curled against the wall across from the bathroom door, her knees pulled to her chest, her head bent forward. One hand was clasped around the back of her neck, gripping so hard her knuckles were white, and the other covered her eyes.
She was crying.
Andrew’s own vision blurred as he lowered himself to the floor. He sat beside her for a moment without speaking, the echo of her halted breathing the only sound in the hallway.
He swallowed, the crisp taste of spearmint flooding his senses. His shoulders felt heavy as he put his arm around her. He half expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. She didn’t respond at all.
He pulled her closer to him, side by side, their ribs, hips, and thighs pressed together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in a broken voice.
She hiccupped and curled into him, burying her face in his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, reaching across to embrace her fully with both arms. She stretched across his body to hug him back and held tight, allowing her bent knees to fall to the side and rest across his legs.
They remained that way for a long time. Not speaking, holding each other, her tears subsiding and her breath returning to normal. He stroked her hair and rubbed her back, feeling his heart swell with emotion. When she hadn’t moved in a while he peeked at her face.
She’d fallen asleep against his chest. He released a slow, steady exhale. What just happened had been horrible, but he felt strangely content in this moment. He kept his arms around her body and leaned his head back against the wall, and eventually sleep pulled him under.
Several hours later, Andrew woke with a major crick in his neck. He and Lauren were still in the hallway of his apartment—he sat with his legs extended and his back against the wall; Lauren was curled into a ball, pressed against his body with her arms loosely around him.
He blinked and scrubbed a hand down his face as the events of the night before rushed back to him.
Lauren cooking dinner. Talking for hours. Watching Love Actually, and Lauren finally making a move to kiss him. His body choosing that exact moment to fail him, and him yelling at her.
Making her cry.
He closed his eyes. His body hurt, and so did his heart.
He opened them again and gazed down at the beautiful woman lying across him. Her dark eyelashes lay across her lightly freckled cheek, and her thick hair was swept back and bunched near his ribs. She’d taken her shoes off when they came in, and her feet looked so tiny and feminine.
He chuckled at himself. He had it bad if he was admiring her feet, of all things.
He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. And not only physically, though that was an extremely powerful desire. He wanted to be hers. The one she called when she was upset or excited. He wanted her face to light up when she saw him, like he knew his did when he laid eyes on her. He wanted to hold her hand in public and kiss her in the coffee line at The Grind House. He wanted everyone to know that they were together, and that she was his.
A line had been crossed. He didn’t know if it was the hours of conversation, the near-kiss during the movie, or holding her after such a raw display of vulnerability. Maybe it was something else entirely.
But he was done pretending.
He also felt confident, for the first time, that she felt the same. She’d seen him at his worst last night…and not just on his knees getting sick. He’d yelled at her to get out—no, to get the fuck out—and leave him alone. And yet, she was still here, wrapped around him.
She stirred, her arm brushing his groin as she moved, and he quickly cleared his throat to wake her up completely. He put his hands on her shoulders and helped her sit up.
She rubbed her eyes and yawned, her hair tumbling across her shoulders. She lifted her eyes to meet his, and he smiled tentatively, suddenly feeling both nervous and lighter at the same time.
“Good morning,” she said, her low, sleepy voice sending a shock of desire through him. “Jeez, I’m sorry I fell asleep on you in the hallway. That had to have been miserable.”
“It was the furthest thing from miserable.”
She returned his smile and stood up, holding her hand out to him.
He stood up with her and let her use the bathroom while he went to the kitchen to make coffee. When she joined him, he handed her a full mug.
“I used some of your toothpaste, I hope that’s okay,” she said.
“I’m surprised there was any left. I brushed the hell out of my teeth last night.”
