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This time when he reaches up, he cups the side of my face and he laces his fingers into my hair. His mouth is so close, I’m overwhelmed by his spearmint breath. I want to taste it.
“I’m jealous,” he admits. My eyes widen as his fingers tighten their grip before he continues. “Of an inanimate object, because it doesn’t have any rules to follow. It’s not going to piss anyone off by touching you.”
I have to close my eyes. I have to catch my breath. It’s not going to happen while I’m looking at him. I’m not actually sure I still have functioning lungs at all.
This is too much. I know without thinking that I won’t be the one that pulls away from this. I breathe his name, softer than he might have heard. It’s a plea, but it could be directed at either one of us. For him to take this further, or for me to stop it completely. I couldn't tell you.
I know he hears it when his lips graze mine, so softly that it’s torture. I somehow manage to remain still, to not pull him closer and deepen it the way I crave to.
I feel him shudder, and I wonder if it’s for the same reason. If he’s testing his restraint as much as I am.
“I have to go,” he whispers against my lips.
I nod more times than is casual. I don’t open my eyes, but I feel the absence of him when he steps away.
“I’ll see you soon?” he asks.
“See you soon."
My front door opens and closes a moment later. I fall back against the wall and sink down to the floor.
No vibrator in the world could help rid me of this feeling.
21
Miles
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask Patty.
I’ve been working with her for a few years. She’s one of the grouchiest residents we have here, but she tolerates me more than anyone else. It works out most of the time, and I try to stop by at least once a day. It doesn’t work out so well when I have interviews, or tours, or scheduling issues, and she refuses to let anyone else into her room.
I’m cleaning up her kitchen after she forced one of the new caregivers to leave. She was crying when she got to me, and I had to give her the warning she should’ve received from the person training her. If you can’t check in on Patty without interrupting whatever show she’s watching, you have to send someone else.
She’s lucky today was on the slower side, or she’d have to sit and look at the mess all day. Instead, she’s sitting and looking at me from her place in her chair.
“What is with you, boy? It’s making me sad just looking at ya.” Her voice has the remnants of a southern accent, and it makes me want to smile at every serious thing she says.
I thought I was hiding my emotions better than that, but I should’ve known. Patty is too intuitive. She somehow knew the day my divorce was finalized without me saying a word about it. She knew Kara didn’t treat me very well, even though I never said a bad word about her.
“That ex-wife giving you trouble?”
“No, nothing like that. I haven’t talked to her in months.” Almost a year, actually. The second divorce was on the table, we forgot how to talk to each other. It was easier to avoid the other person, and she moved in with her parents when that became too difficult.
It’s been radio silence since everything was settled, and I don’t have any urge to reach out. It makes me feel like an asshole, like I should at least care how she’s doing, but I don’t. I know for a fact that she’s happier without hearing from me.
“Glad for that, at least. What’s got you all shook up?”
Patty’s a persistent one too. I don't want to admit what really has me shaken up. I also don’t want to use her as a therapist, because that’s definitely not how this dynamic is supposed to work.
“Ella will be here in an hour, are you going to let her take you down to dinner?”
“That’s not going to work on me.”
“It’s lasagna tonight, isn’t it? You like lasagna.”
“Stop deflecting, boy.”
I drop the towel I was holding with a sigh.
