“But my dad did a good job filling in,” she continues. “Much in the way you are.”
Fuck. I have to look up towards the ceiling to keep myself in check, to keep any welling tears at bay. It takes a moment, but eventually I’m able to swallow down the lump in my throat and place a kiss on Miller’s head as she continues to lean on my shoulder.
She takes another forkful of tiramisu, filling her mouth, and I use the pause to change the subject.
“We should probably get back from our business meeting,” I say as she tilts to look up at me.
A bit of mascarpone lingers on her lower lip, and I can’t help myself from cleaning it off with the pad of my thumb, sticking it in my mouth and sucking off the remnants that were just on her.
She tracks the movement, her green eyes hooded.
Miller only nods in agreement, both of us knowing it’s past time to get out of here.
I’m so accustomed to Miller being the forward one, the confident one. Confident enough she’d make a move.
While we’re in the elevator on the ride up to our hotel floor, I’m all but praying she does. I’m hoping for some dirty innuendo, or for her to straight up jump me because it’d give me an excuse to give in to what I want.
I want her.
There’s no denying it any longer; I want this girl more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. Sure, I want her for more than the next few weeks, but she’s made it clear I can’t have her for any longer than that. So the question is, can I keep myself detached enough to not entirely crumble when she goes?
We stand side by side in the elevator, so much quiet tension in this tiny metal box. Miller doesn’t make a move, doesn’t say something sexual to cut the tension. She lets it linger, lets me choke on it.
But we both know it isn’t her responsibility to once again declare how much she wants me. The ball is in my court, and after I’ve stopped us not only once, but twice, I’m the one who has to make a move. She’s not going to put herself in the position to get shot down again, and I truly don’t believe she’d try anything when she knows my fears of growing attached to another person who is leaving.
Her hand is right beside mine, dangling only an inch from my own. I want to pin her to the wall, press the emergency stop button and fall to my knees. It’d be fitting if I’d finally make a move and it’s in an elevator, seeing as this is where it all started.
But before I can it dings, the doors open, and Miller exhales a defeated sigh before exiting and heading straight for her room with a bit of speed to her steps. She doesn’t waste any time, pulling out her key card and holding it to the lock. “Goodnight, Kai,” she says, opening the door. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”
With that, she offers me a small smile, goes inside, and closes the door behind her, leaving me in the hallway.
Fuck.
Inside, I’m alone. My son’s not here. The only person I’m responsible for right now is myself and I’m really fucking tired of being responsible.
I want to be reckless and impulsive.
I want the woman on the other side of this wall, and I’m done trying to convince myself I don’t.
Why the fuck did I hesitate in the elevator?
For once, I’m not thinking about anyone else with this decision. I’m not thinking about my responsibilities. I’m not even thinking about my future self and how bad this is going to hurt when it’s done.
So what if she wants casual? Whether or not we have sex, I’m going to be a mess when she leaves, so what’s the point in abstaining from what we both want?
I’ll pretend.
I’ll fucking pretend. For her sake, I’ll keep it casual on the surface, and when she leaves at the end of the summer, I’ll wallow and bitch in private.
I can’t deny it anymore.
So, with unsteady breaths racking my chest, I raise my hand to knock on the door between our rooms, but before I can make contact, it opens.
Hand on the knob, Miller is breathing just as heavy, green eyes dark and a bit unhinged. She already took her overalls off, standing in the doorway in nothing but a little shirt and panties.
I allow myself to eye-fuck the hell out of her because I’ve spent too many days pretending like she’s not the only thing I see.
Her attention finds my balled hand still hanging in the air, a bit of surprise ghosting her face. “Why were you about to knock?”
“Why did you open the door?”
“I asked first.”
“I was going to knock because I’m about to be selfish.” Stepping forward, I cross the threshold between her room and mine, recognizing the metaphor of it all. “For once, I’m going to take what I want.”