I can feel her practically on top of me, so I stop short and pivot, catching her unaware. She gasps and falls back a step, but I catch her wrists again so I can hold onto her. The room is dark since I already shut the light off. The only stream of light is the moonlight spilling in through her living room window, but it’s enough to see her bare breasts heaving as I back her up against the wall.
Virginia looks up at me—so beautiful, so vulnerable. Even with a sheen of wariness in her brown eyes, there’s so much trust lying underneath. I probably can trust her. Virginia has put me ahead of her own self-interest time and again.
I’m the real problem. I’m the unreliable one. I don’t know how to guarantee I’ll feel how I feel now forever, I don’t know how to be sure I’ll never hurt her, never drive her away.
Forget forever, I don’t even know how to be sure I won’t hurt her from one day to the next. I hate to be that asshole, but the truth is, if I really wanted to protect her, I’d stay the hell away from her.
I want her to be happy, but only as happy as she can be still tied to me. I don’t want to keep hurting her, but I can’t promise I won’t bail her out of work and drag her out with me again next time I miss her company and want more of it, either.
I hate making her cry, but I keep doing it.
The confusing thing is, I am a man who has become comfortable in his selfishness. I am not accustomed to feeling guilt—not anymore, at least. Once upon a time when I was younger, greener, sure, I might have felt guilt. Laurel asked me once if I could be happy at someone else’s expense. I didn’t hesitate to assure her I could, and I didn’t feel guilty for that answer, either. But I do feel guilty for hurting Virginia. I know she doesn’t deserve it, and that might play a part, but the real question is: why the fuck does it matter? I do bad things to people who don’t deserve it all the time. I hurt people for my own gain all the time. That’s business. That’s life. That’s the way it goes.
I take what I want, and I don’t apologize for it.
Except for now.
I want Virginia. It’s not a passing feeling, either. I don’t want her any less now than I did months ago, when she brought me break-up cheesecake after I broke her heart.
So why am I fighting it? I can have her, if I really want her. I can plant her against this wall right now and trap her mouth beneath mine, kiss her until she’s senseless. Until she wants me too much to say no. I can plant my hands under her ass and lift her, I can carry her to her bedroom and toss her on her messy bed. I can kiss those breasts, bite that skin, fuck that pussy. I know how wet she would be already. I know how fucking much I want to.
I know I could, but I don’t do it, because I know there’s a good chance she will end up hurt if I do.
I want to have her, and I want to protect her, and I can’t do both.
But what would compel a man such as myself, a selfish, hedonistic asshole out for his own pleasure, completely capable of minimizing personal guilt to the point of non-existence… why am I on pause for this one fucking woman?
I think I might be in love with her.
Or maybe I’m past that. In love is when it feels good, not when it hurts. In love is when you spend every morning tangled up in one another, not when you’re stuck between two hard choices, and you choose the one that hurts the other person less.
Maybe I love her.
Love is the only reason to put others ahead of yourself, after all. I love her enough that I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m selfish enough that I won’t let go.
We’re in a hell of a situation here. One of us has to blink, or we’re going to live paused lives together until one of us dies.
As if she can hear my thoughts, she stares at me now, unblinking. “Well? What are you thinking?”
“You have to blink first. I don’t want it to be me.”
Virginia frowns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t want it to be you, either,” I add. “I don’t want it to be either one of us, but we’re both fucked until one of us decides not to be. I’m not a good person. I’ll take advantage of you if you let me.”
Her eyes soften, and she brings her hand to my face. “That’s not true.”
“It is. I’ll take as much as I can from you to satisfy my desires, but I won’t give you what you need. I’m gonna drain you, Virginia. Like a fucking vampire. I’m going to suck all the love out of you and leave you empty.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, and I realize it’s the truth. I’m gonna prey on this fucking girl, because she’s going to let me. Because she likes being my human blood bag, and she thinks she can take it.
I’m going to become the thing I hate, and she is going to be my willing victim.
I don’t want that.
“No, you’re not,” she tells me, her eyes imploring. “I’m nowhere near empty, Rafe. Being around you fills me up, it doesn’t deplete me.”
Lifting my eyebrows, I say, “No?”