The Phoenix Candidate(30)

She’s right. It’s about living.





***





I pause before I knock on his door, nerves and pizza and wine and fro-yo mixing an unsettled combination in my stomach. It’s late, edging toward midnight.

And it might be too late entirely.

But I’m living.

The door opens soon after I rap on the door. Jared’s sleep-smeared eyes squint against the bright light of the hotel room hallway. He grabs my hand and pulls.

“Get in here before you change your mind.”

I’m spun into the dark room and the door closes with a click of the lock. Strong arms go around my body, under my T-shirt, kneading the skin on my back. His stubble stings my cheek as he pulls me tightly against him.

“Jared, I’ve de—”

“Wait. Just wait a minute, Grace.” I stiffen, hearing the echo of one fucking minute, but then he adds, “Please.”

And I stop. Just feel the moment. I smell spicy soap on his skin and touch the softness of his T-shirt as the press of his erection grows between us.

He breathes in deeply, smelling my hair, his hands working in slow, methodical circles up and down my spine. I push my hands under his T-shirt and feel his smooth column of spine, the hardness of the muscles in his back. I’m melting deeper into his embrace, and I could be floating here, untethered from the earth.

We inhale the other’s scent, minutes flowing together. Finally, he takes a step back. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness of his room and now I take in the rumpled sheets on his bed, a mess of papers on his desk, his clothes strewn across the floor, and a couple of empty beer bottles on the bedside table.

It’s very unlike Jared.

I think?

I don’t even know this man. I don’t know his habits. His likes. His dislikes. I don’t know what his apartment’s like, if it’s as sterile as mine, or even which state issued him a driver’s license.

I don’t know his birthday, his shoe size, whether he has pets or kids or—oh, my God, a wife?

I know nothing, except I want this man. Right now.

If.

“Can we just … can we just be together for a little bit?” I’m too afraid to name what I want, to take up the conversation that ripped us apart this morning.

Jared’s head dips with affirmation. “Yes, Grace.”

My hands skim across his shoulders and upper arms, and I tentatively stretch my fingers around the sides of his neck. My thumbs trace his jaw, relishing my fingertips’ path through his stubble.

I bring my cheek to his, turning my lips to his cheek, brushing across his jaw. I feel him stiffen, but my hands trap his face. “I just really want this.” My lips touch the corner of his mouth.

Jared’s chin dips, his mouth pulling from my reach. “Don’t push me on that, Grace.”

“Like you pushed me?” I whisper, but it’s a challenge.

“It’s not the same.”

“Like hell it isn’t. What kind of person can get naked, can have insane, up-all-night sex, but can’t kiss their lover?”

Jared drops his hold on me as if I’m poison and stalks to the bed. “It’s too much. Too close.”

“I don’t understand. A kiss is nothing.”

“Then why is it so goddamned important to you?” he explodes. “Go home, Grace. You were right. I am a bastard, and I had no business picking you up in that bar when I knew who you were. And now that I know you … I hate what I’ve done.”

The ferocity with which he condemns himself nearly knocks the wind out of me. And so I go to him—I kneel to get to his eye level as he sits on the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“Jared.”

No answer. No acknowledgement.

“Jared.”

I touch his shoulder but he shrugs me away.

“I’m not leaving.”

“You should.”

“Still trying to tell me what to do? I’m over that, Jared.”

“Get out.” His demand is weaker, pleading.

“No.” I sit back on my heels. “I came over here to finish our talk, and I’m going to do that. But first we’ve got to deal with this … this thing between us.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit. It’s something.” I take his hand and pull it from his forehead. I thread my fingers through his, squeezing: life and hope and feeling. “You had no right to pick me up when you knew who I was and I didn’t know you. But I’m a big girl. I chose to go to your hotel, no stories and no strings. I don’t regret it.”

“You need—we need—to quit before this becomes an even bigger mess.”

“Why?” I want to grab his shoulders and shake it out of him.