We Have Till Dawn

I felt my forehead crease with confusion.

He did what?

The words didn’t really compute.

“But you chose her,” I said.

More frowning. At least he left the kitchen and moved closer. “Excuse me? I did no such thing.”

My heart stayed in my throat, for a whole new reason, and it started beating furiously. “You said—I heard you, Gideon. You said you had to proceed with your plan. Your plan to marry her—it was your plan all along.”

He stared at me as if he were trying to solve a difficult math problem, all while I went to war against the hope that threatened to shoot out of me. If there was the slightest chance…

“You’re mistaken.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled up one of his legs so he could face me properly. “I was a nervous wreck all morning because I had invited Claire over to tell her I could no longer go through with the engagement. Then I took a walk with Chester to center myself, and when I came back, I saw you standing there. It threw me. It wasn’t part of my plan.”

I blinked. The words slithered through my brain too slowly, as if a part of me was scared shitless to believe them.

“It became too much, Nicky. With your declaration and Claire due to arrive at any moment, it was more than I could handle.” He swallowed and stared at his lap. “You were also saying all the right things before I’d had the chance to admit the worst things about myself. So, I…I couldn’t stave off the panic. And then she showed up, and I saw the magazines she was carrying.” He blew out a breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. “She’d misunderstood me too. She’d thought I’d ended my ‘experiment’ with you early—and that I was ready to plan our wedding.”

That was why he had asked for the pause button…

He hadn’t been able to handle everything at once, so he’d told me he needed to stick to the plan—which was, end things with Claire, and then he and I could talk.

My eyes filled with unshed tears quicker than I could’ve anticipated, and I pressed my lips together to keep from making any weird sounds.

“I don’t understand your emotions now,” he stated.

“Relief.” I blinked, and a couple tears fell down. “Plain relief.”

I had a shot. It was official. I’d wear him down if I had to.

“Oh.” He furrowed his brow. “I’m not there yet. I fear what I’m about to tell you will make you change your mind.”

Unless he was hiding another fiancée somewhere, I wasn’t too worried.

“I’m listening.” I wiped at my cheeks and took a steadying breath. “Just…scoot closer to me, okay?”

He scooted a little closer, though not enough for us to be able to touch each other, so I extended my hand, and he scooted a bit more. It was an improvement at least—and a much-needed comfort since he looked anything but at ease. In fact, his expression was pinched with worry and weariness.

I covered his hand with mine and gave it a squeeze. “Whatever it is you gotta tell me, it can’t be that bad.”

“You don’t know that,” he responded quietly. “We can start with today. I’m not good at communicating properly at all times.”

“Who is?”

He huffed a breath. “Fine. I’m afraid I will bore you. I don’t mind going to bars every now and then, but I can’t stay very long, and I don’t enjoy nightclubs at all. I’m also picky about restaurants, I’m not flexible, sometimes I might become clingy and needy—especially where you’re concerned—and I’m positively terrified that your family won’t accept me, and I know how much you love them.” He hauled in a breath and trucked on. “Occasionally, I will avoid an issue and hope it goes away by itself. Most recently, it’s been the matter of us not having sex.”

This, I had to hear.

“When I have a lot on my mind…” he said, faltering, and he avoided eye contact more than before. Now he was almost peering toward the kitchen. It was clear he struggled with this. He was embarrassed. “I go through asexual periods sometimes.”

Oh.

“I can’t explain it very well.” He wrung his hands awkwardly in his lap. “I can still feel incredibly affectionate toward you and want to please you, but I’m starting to believe it’s because of my emotional attachment. It isn’t sex. Not in the past few days anyway. That urge…disappears. Thankfully not for long, usually—perhaps a couple weeks or so—but it happens. I’m sorry.”

Not a single thing he’d said raised any worries until those last two words. I wouldn’t have him apologizing for shit.

Summoning my balls, I crawled over to him and climbed onto his lap.

“Hey.” I kissed his forehead and decided not to force eye contact. He’d get there when he was ready, just like he had the first time we’d been in this position and I’d taken off my blindfold. “Don’t apologize for who you are, papito.”