Behind the Scenes(84)

“Don’t do that,” I say, partly to him and partly to myself. “Don’t act like everything is normal between us.”

“Why did you quit?”

“I got a different job. I want to be on set.”

He narrows his eyes. “That’s all?”

I sigh in exasperation. “No, that’s not all. Of course that’s not all!” I wave my hands around like a crazy person. “Look, I’ve been doing a good deal of thinking since I met you, and one thing I’ve figured out is that I ask a lot from men. I don’t want to do that with you anymore. It’s exhausting, and it doesn’t make either one of us happy. So I’m putting space between us, and just like I’m going to be me, I’m going to let you be you. You have…stuff. Reasons for being the way you are. We all do. I get that. But I’m not your therapist. It’s not my job to try and guess why you do the things you do. Why you’re so hot and cold.”

I pause for a breath. “That seems like it’s the only right thing to do. I’m not going to force you into anything… Simon.”

The name still feels slightly odd on my tongue, but I also love it. A big part of getting over him will be erasing the sweetness of his first name from my memory.

“Wow,” he breathes. He takes his hands from his pockets and walks across the floor, studying the DVD titles on the wall.

So many times I’ve fantasized about him being in this room with me, and now that it’s actually happening, it’s nothing like I hoped it would be. For one thing, I imagined it cleaner… and maybe with some candles lit.

Such is life.

He turns back to me, his eyes set on my face. “I wasn’t expecting any of that from you.”

“Well… there you have it. Do what you will with it.”

He glances down, and when he looks back up, his face is softer. “I’ve been spending my own time thinking as well.”

“Huh.” I’m curious of course, but I don’t want to appear too interested. If I want to leave this exchange with at least part of my heart still intact, I need to get him out of my apartment as soon as possible.

“It’s funny that you say you need to stop asking so much from people.” He pauses, his eyes flitting around as he gives some thought to his words. “I have things I want to change about myself too. I don’t like the direction I’ve been going in, Sydney. I haven’t liked it for years. I just haven’t known how to change course.”

I watch him, waiting for more.

“You made me want to,” he says.

My heart lifts at that, the warmth flowing out of it like it’s a flower blooming for the first time in years. God, I don’t want it to be that way, but it is.

“Can I take you somewhere?” he asks.

I warily tilt my head. “Where?”

“To my house. I want to show you something.”

I make a show out of ruefully laughing. “What’s going to happen if we’re alone at your house?”

“We’re alone in your bedroom,” he replies. I flush under the intense tone. “And I like flannel, by the way.” His eyes flick up and down my legs.

I gulp. “Okay. Let’s go. I need to change first.”

He nods and, surprisingly, goes to wait in the hallway. I shut the door halfway, aware of his presence on the other side the entire time I pull clothes out of the wardrobe. I excavate a pair of tight blue jeans and an old high school volleyball t-shirt and yank them on, my hands shaking slightly the entire time.

I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I need to be careful. Just because Simon says he’s ready to chart a different course, doesn’t mean the two of us are sailing in the same direction. Hell, we could be in different seas.

I open the door all the way. He’s standing right where I left him, like a watch dog guarding my room. We silently look at each other and I resist the urge to just throw myself into his arms. If I go ahead and give myself over physically, all the things I want to say will be forgotten. Then we might end up back in this vicious cycle that’s so hard to escape from.

But, God, I want him in my bed. Smelly clothes on the floor be damned.

“I’m not a plaything,” I say. The words come out gentler than I had expected them to. Or maybe that’s the fear in me showing. His presence is tearing down my defenses, just like it always does.

“I know,” he responds in a voice so soft it curls my toes.

I study him, trying to figure out whether he truly means it or not. Slowly, I nod. I believe him. He’s made mistakes, just like everyone. And maybe he is trying to be better but is just having trouble figuring out how to do that.