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I HOPE HE shows. I really hope he shows.
I tried to act cool back at the library, but my heart was pounding like a hammer smashing through my chest. Diego froze the moment I invited him over. I could almost hear the gears grinding in his head, churning through all the reasons not to, even while his body offered him a strong counter-offer.
God, he’s frustrating.
I know he wants me. He knows he wants me. He said it last time he was here. Yet he insists on fighting this, on running scared no matter how many times we don’t get caught. He doesn’t seem to realize that everyone around him has their own shit to worry about. They really don’t care what we’re doing as long as it doesn’t affect them.
I pace the house, more anxious with each passing hour. I wash the dishes, clean up my room, vacuum. The chores keep me busy, but I catch myself peeking out of the windows trying to spot his car along the block. Wait. Would he drive? Would he think that’s too conspicuous and walk the mile instead? I don’t actually know.
Finally, I do what I claimed I would and flop on the couch to watch a movie. I can’t manage to pay attention to the bland action sequences, though. I’m too busy worrying about whether a comfortable maxi dress under a cozy, baggy sweater is too dressed up or too dressed down. I can’t make it look like a date or like I was sitting around waiting for him all evening (even though I was). That would make Diego think I’m treating this like a relationship, a thing it definitely can’t be, at least not right now. But I have to let myself putsomeeffort into impressing the man. I want him to look at me the way he did in that club, like I’m the most gorgeous person in the room, the only person in the room, someone he can’t keep his hands off of.
I turn off the dumb movie and start heading upstairs to second-guess my wardrobe choices when someone knocks on the door. My heart nearly slams itself out of my body, but I don’t have time to calm down. If it’s Diego, he won’t want to stand out there exposed for long.
I throw the door open, and sure enough, it’s Diego who hurries inside like someone might be chasing him.Fine by me. At least it got him in here with me instead of standing outside questioning whether he should go home instead.
He eyes me up and down, and a nervous trill flutters through my chest. He wears exactly what he had on this afternoon, but his hair looks freshly washed, his stumble recently shaved down to a dark shadow against his cheeks. The spice of his aftershave warms my whole body like the steam wafting off of perfectly brewed tea.
“You look nice,” he says.
“It’s comfortable,” I say. It’s a bad instinct. I’ve always had to explain away my unconventional fashion choices and long hair, as though I can’t simply have those things because I want them. Diego certainly doesn’t care about what I’m supposed to dress like, how long my hair is supposed to be, whether I’m supposed to wear eyeliner and lip gloss. He doesn’t need an excuse.
“It looks comfortable,” Diego says.
He shifts from foot to foot. He has nothing with him but his jacket, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets.
I can’t stand the awkwardness for another second. We both know what we’re here for, and I, for one, have waited damn long enough.
I grab his wrist, pulling his hand free of his pocket as I drag him toward the stairs.
“I still have shoes on,” he says.
“Don’t care.”
I am on a mission, and God damn shoes are not going to get in my way.
At first, I feel like I’m dragging him with me toward the bedroom, but we aren’t halfway up the stairs before Diego starts contributing as much to our propulsion as I am. The second we’re in my bedroom, I spin him around and do the thing I’ve wanted to do since I saw him in the library on Tuesday — kiss him as hard as I can.
His aftershave is even more potent from this distance, and it leaves my head light as I drink in his lips. I throw my arms around his neck, and he grabs me by the waist to pull me against him. The moment our bodies are flush, the kiss deepens, both of us tilting our heads and employing our tongues to explore each other’s mouths.
I’ve been a wreck while waiting all week for this. My body screams with relief the moment I have him, the moment his warm mouth is against mine. His fingers tighten, tugging at me like I can’t possibly get close enough. I groan into his mouth, hoping it conveys a fragment of the pent-up longing I’ve bottled all week long.
Apparently, it does. I can feel him stirring against me. My maxi dress is thin, even if his jeans aren’t. When we break for breath, he’s panting every bit as hard as I am, and the beautiful brown of his skin is a shade darker around the cheeks.
“I’ve wanted to do that all week,” I say.
“Me too.”
The admission is quiet but heated, something torn from deep within him, something he’s probably not even dared to think. It’s only here that he lets himself go and shows me how he really feels, and while that’s frustrating as hell, it also makes these kinds of moments all the more precious. I get a glimpse of a Diego no one else sees, a Diego that’s just for me.
That doesn’t mean I forgive him for running away from me at every opportunity. In fact, I’ve been imagining ways to get my revenge all evening long. Fun ways. Ways I want to do to him right now.
I don’t notice us drifting deeper into the room until Diego suddenly falls, pulling me down with him out of reflex. We tumble jarringly to the bed, jolted apart, but it isn’t enough to stop either of us. I simply shove him farther back and crawl onto the bed after him, chasing him across the mattress until we’ve both shimmied onto it.
Perched between his knees, I sit back and peel off my sweatshirt. My dress is sleeveless beneath it, just a simple black jersey dress I wear for pure comfort, but Diego watches me like I’ve stripped down to nothing. His eyes dart up and down, unsure where to settle, and I milk the moment for all it’s worth, hiking my dress up to my knees but no higher. Not yet.
In his excitement, Diego sat up a little as I pulled off my sweater. I set a hand on his chest and shove him back down so he’s flat on his back. Then I sit on my heels, nottouching him, not taking off the dress, leaving us both squirming for several long moments. It’s torture, even for me, but leaving him waiting, making him chasemefor once, is so sweet I can bear it.
Diego breaks, tries reaching for me. I bat his hand aside.
