Page 19 of Everything But Mine

“Amanda—”

“We don’t have to talk.”

“I want to.”

“I don’t want to talk about that night.” I let the silence settle between us. “Do you want to talk about tonight?”

I expected that to stop him, but he nodded instead. His vulnerability thickened around us, suffocating.

“I waited for your texts, and voice notes. I needed to know you were okay.”

His breath warmed my ear, and mine fanned against his too. As if we were lovers sharing parts of us only meant for each other.

“I wasn’t.” He shivered, but he wasn’t shaking as violently now.

“I couldn’t before. I’m here now, though.”

He pushed his leg between mine, rubbing his inner thigh against me. He was still cold to the touch but not like before. “Until you leave again.”

I didn’t argue. I had been planning to return to Italy. A featherlight touch traced the sides of my torso, his palms sliding around me, pulling me firmly against him. The weight of him pressed into me, raw and unspoken, a trembling ache that grew in my own chest.

“I hurt you.” He pulled back to look at me, but I arched myself into him so our chests stayed close. He groaned.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, resisting the urge to hold him tighter. I couldn’t handle the weight of his emotional burden, nor could I send him deeper into whatever tonight had been.

“I can’t forgive you.” My voice trembled.

He nodded, a thick swallow reverberating in his throat. “I know.” His voice cracked with the weight of it. “I lost you. Completely.”

“I couldn’t stay, Eric.”

He buried his face against my chest, between my breasts. His breath stirred against me, sending a shiver down my spine. These touches, this tension, there was more to it—it was spiritual, mystical. “I’m fucked up.”

“I can’t give you absolution or excuses. I’ve run you through every therapist trick, Eric. It comes down to the fact that you knew what you were doing, and you did it anyway.”

“That’s true.” His knee nudged between my legs, and I bit my lip, feeling the heat of his touch despite the cold lingering on his skin. He laid his head next to mine, nose to nose, tequila and whiskey mixed in his breath. “I feel better. You should go. Our parents’ll read too much if they see you leave my room.”

I scoffed. “I’m pretty sure my parents already think we’ve fucked.”

“You think?” His voice dipped an undeniable hint of amusement.

It was so us, it pained me; serious one second, playful the next.

“Oh, yeah,” I whispered.

His hand slid over the waistband of my panties, pressing my hips into his. I felt the heat and the length of him, soft but unmistakable, pressing against my stomach.

“But we never have,” I added.

I move my fingers along his side, his skin breaking into shivers. I didn’t think it was the cold that time. Slowly, I let my hand drift lower, tracing the tattoo on his chest, occasionally brushing over his nipple. The feel of his skin and the intimacy we shared coated the moment with the threat of more hurt.

“Were you serious tonight?”

His eyes darted away from mine. “I was and I wasn’t.”

I traced the A and E on his pec.

“You know I can’t leave Mom.” Eric exhaled shakily.