He slanted his irritated gaze on me. “Were you before just now?”
I bit my lip, not wanting to tell him the truth because I knew it would push him further away from me. I sat up, feeling naked and exposed all of a sudden. Why did he always have to make something so beautiful into something wrong? Something sordid.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Brooke.” He turned away again, taking a deep breath. When he turned back, his expression was a bit softer. “Did I hurt you?”
I shook my head. “No. I loved it.” I wanted to tell him that I loved him. That I’d loved him for so long, but I knew he’d pass it off as a teenage crush.
His warm come dripped down my thigh. Intrigued, I looked at it, scooping some up with my fingers to get a closer look. I knew about oral sex, and so I wanted to taste it to see how it would be if he ever let me suck him off.
“Oh, fuck.”
My head jerked up, surprised how often he said the f-word tonight, but also by the terror in his voice.
“I didn’t use a condom. Holy hell. Just what I need. To get my best friend’s daughter pregnant.” Self-loathing and anger laced his voice.
The comment hurt even though it didn’t surprise me. It was his tone. It made
me feel rejected. Unworthy.
“I’m on the pill,” I said without any affect, pulling my dress up over my shoulders. When he didn’t respond, I looked at him.
“You planned this, didn’t you? Just like the holiday with the mistletoe.” This time his tone was accusatory. Like I was some sort of skanky temptress.
I was an opportunist then, for sure. And I realized that four years ago, I was a naïve young woman in how I lured him. But my heart had been in the right place.
“No. Did I want you then and now? Yes. The mistletoe was me trying to win you. But tonight, you kissed me, Mo. You fucked me.”
He flinched.
“I’m on the pill because I’d gone to college and considered the possibility that I’d want to have sex. I stay on it because it’s convenient to know my cycle.” I strode to the sink and grabbed a paper towel to wipe his come from me. I was trying not to cry. He didn’t need to see how badly he hurt me.
“Brooke.” His voice was small.
I looked at him, and I saw the guilt and anguish in his eyes. A part of me felt guilty for putting it there. I knew how he felt. If I was a good person, I’d have stopped him from touching me because I knew he’d regret this. I had to take some of the blame for how I was feeling now. He’d been clear on his belief that we were wrong together. Maybe it was time to accept that. Giving him a taste of what he was missing wasn’t going to change his mind. It didn’t matter four years ago, and clearly it hadn’t changed anything now.
“I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve made that painfully clear.”
He reached out toward me but then retreated. “You’re Frank’s daughter. I shouldn’t have touched you. Please forgive me.”
I didn’t know whether to hug him to comfort him or slap for being such a jerk. I didn’t have a chance to do either as he walked out of the kitchen. A few moments later, I heard a door shut and the shower turn on. He was washing me off of him. Washing away his perceived sin.
Inside, my heart broke. I picked up my panties, pushed my dress back down, and made my way to my room. There was a saying about being careful about what you wished for. For so long, I’d wanted Mo. I’d wanted him to take my V-card, but it was more than that. I wanted his love. His respect. I wanted to give that back to him. He’d made one part of my wish come true, but because the other parts weren’t there, the dream was hollow. Empty. In fact, it felt worse than the longing for it. But I couldn’t let him make me feel bad about it. I wouldn’t be ashamed. It wasn’t sordid.
I took a shower, too, but I wasn’t washing away regret. I used the time to cry. He was attracted to me. He cared for me. Why couldn’t he let himself be with me? Yes, I was his friend’s daughter, but my father clearly loved and trusted him. If he knew we cared about each other, he’d support that, wouldn’t he?
Later, as I lay in bed, I tried to reframe tonight as a stepping stone. He’d regretted what had happened four years ago, and yet, tonight, he’d lost himself in me. That had to mean something, right? He didn’t go around fucking just anyone. He’d been with me because I meant something to him. Because he found me attractive. Maybe he’d come around, after all. As we made our way through this marriage to help my father, perhaps he’d see how good I was for him, and he’d let me love him the way I knew he deserved. Maybe he’d love me back.
I rolled on to my side, wanting to hold on to the positive thoughts, but I couldn’t stop the doubt. What if he could never let go of his concern about betraying my father? What if after the year or whenever he felt the need for this marriage to be done, he sent me on my way? Or what if, after tonight, his guilt had him backing out and not helping my father? I had so much to lose. My heart. My father’s legacy. My own pride. Sleep came in fits as the worst case scenario haunted my dreams.
13
Maurice
It was official, I wasn’t the good man I’d thought I was. The proof of that involved a long list.
I’d fucked my best friend’s daughter.