He catches his breath and nods once while resting his hands on his hips and dropping his gaze to his feet. “You’re right. I’m just … It felt …”
“Yes. And yes.” I blow out a long breath and grin. “I know. Trust me … I know.”
Nate threads his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Fucking condoms … I … I should have just told Morgan they were mine.”
I take a few seconds to commit this moment to memory. My female psyche has been weakened over time from a roller coaster of ups and downs—acceptance, love, hope, rejection, disdain, abandonment. As often as I tell myself that things like wrinkles, great hair, and perfectly toned muscles don’t define me, I’m often crippled by self-doubt. Just because I’ve lost hope … lost the desire to find lasting love, doesn’t mean I’m immune to the sheer elation of someone desperately wanting my touch … my kisses … my body. So I’m doing my best to pause time and feel this moment, to imprint the need and anguish he’s feeling because he can’t have me the way he needs me.
Tomorrow and a million tomorrows after that, Nate won’t need me, but now he does. It’s hard to explain how feeling needed means more than feeling loved. I realized this after Brandon died. It wasn’t just love; it was more. I needed him. Humans don’t function well when their needs are not met. I have not been okay. For nearly two decades, I have not been okay.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Nate pulls his hands out of his hair, letting them flop to his sides. “What can you possibly be thanking me for?”
Hugging my arms to my chest. I roll my lips together and shrug. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s big. It’s sincere. And I won’t ever forget it.”
He grunts the hint of a laugh before blowing out a slow breath. “I’m going home to take a cold shower.”
“Dinner was phenomenal, but the company was indescribable.”
The residual disappointment and anguish melts from his face. “Agreed.”
“Night, Nate.”
“Goodnight.” He turns and sulks out the door.
I lean my back against the wall, close my eyes, and smile. It feels … Well, I’m not sure what word to use. It’s just incredible to feel.
After slipping into my not-so-sexy tee and boy-shorts, I brush my teeth and wash my face. Then I contemplate reading a book or watching a show.
The book wins.
I look for my Kindle in my purse, but it’s not there. I check a few other places before opening my nightstand drawer.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” In my drawer is the box of condoms and a sticky note with Mr. Hans’s chicken scratches on it:
I think you’ll need these before I will. Dare I say have fun?
I’m not sure why he gave them to me instead of returning them to Nate, probably to mess with both of us.
It’s ten-thirty. I’m ready for bed. Makeup is off. And Nate’s probably had a cold shower or done other things to remedy his situation.
“Just go to sleep,” I tell myself.
Ugh … I never listen, and that’s what brings me to Nate’s door at a quarter to eleven. It’s dark. There’s no sign that he’s still awake. I should go. I turn, heading back to the stairs. Then I turn back around.
After doing this so much that I’m dizzy, I ring the doorbell.
I can’t. Go!
I run down the stairs with my bare feet and scantily clad body—total chicken. I hear his door creek open, and I freeze. It’s really dark. If I hold stone still, maybe he won’t see me and go back inside assuming it was some young kid playing a prank.
“At least leave a plate of cookies if you’re going to ring my doorbell and run, Elvis.”
“Shit …” I whisper, turning around slowly.
He walks down the stairs, bare chest, bare feet, and low-hanging jogging shorts.
“I was uh …” I hold up the box of condoms. “Just dropping this off. Mr. Hans put them in my nightstand drawer. I had no idea. I was looking for my Kindle, not condoms.”
He stops in front of me.
“So … here.” I shove them into his chest. “That’s all. Night.” When I let go, they drop to the ground.
He studies me like the condoms don’t exist. “How do you feel about late-night dips?”
I glance out at the water. “Not too good.”
“I agree. It’s a terrible idea. We should definitely do it.”
“Wha—Nate!”
He bends down, tosses me over his shoulder, and races to the water.
“No! Nate! This is a terrible id—” Cold water fills my ears in a whoosh as he submerges us.
“C-cold …” I say when he drags me to the surface with him. Nate warms me with his mouth on mine. I might drown, but it will be in this kiss, not the eternity of water embracing us.