He moves closer to me. Jesus, he's so close, he could kiss me or touch me. But he doesn't. Why doesn't he? Wouldn't he rather kiss me than talk about Ryan?
“I need him,” I say.
“Why?” he asks. I know Luke isn't this dumb. I made it plenty clear why I need Ryan. He must get it by now. He must understand. “What does Ryan do that you couldn't do for yourself?”
“He looks out for me,” I say.
“And why can't you look out for yourself?”
“I don't know, but I obviously can't. I got myself into this mess, didn't I?”
“The mess where you're engaged to a man you dislike or the mess where you're in my apartment, in that criminally sexy dress, ready to cheat on your fiancé?”
Well, I have to give him points for confidence.
Oh, come on. He invited you to his apartment. You both knew what that meant. Would you even be here if you didn't think he was going to fuck you?
“I would have died without him,” I say.
“So, he saved your life? The only other option would be enabling your suicide. A slow suicide, maybe, but still suicide.” Luke looks away for a minute, but his composure doesn't break. “Only a monster would do that.”
“He could have done nothing. He could have given up on me.”
Luke looks back at me. “You can't marry him. He doesn't make you happy. He doesn’t respect you.”
“So, when you tell me to leave my 'controlling asshole' boyfriend of four years, even though I've made it clear I need him, what is that—the utmost respect? Or are you just another controlling asshole who thinks he knows what's best for me?”
“Fuck, you're right. I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. Really, I am. I swear I didn't invite you here to antagonize you.”
“Likely story.”
“I'll make it up to you. I promise.” He moves closer, his fingertips hovering over my skin. God, I hope he means what I think he means.
“And how will you do that?”
“However you want.”
I move a little closer to him. His eyes bore into mine, reading them for some kind of reaction. Then his hands make contact with my skin and my body surges with electricity.
“Listen, Alyssa, I can respect if you didn't come here to talk.”
Now we're getting somewhere.
“And if this is some kind of ‘fuck you’ to Ryan, I get that. He deserves it and, quite frankly, if you're going to fuck someone to get revenge on your boyfriend… I'll make sure it's worth it. I'll make sure you have something you can remember for a long time.”
He isn't reserved any longer. He turns towards me, his hand pressing against my bare back. A heat spreads through my body, and I'm not sure if I can fight this desire any longer. It would feel so good to let his hands keep moving. It would feel so good to touch him and kiss him and fuck him. It might even be worth it.
“I'd much prefer to be more than a revenge fuck, but if my only two choices are to be your nothing or to be your revenge fuck, I'll be your revenge fuck,” he says.
He runs his fingertips up and down my back.
“But, if I completely misread the situation, and you really are here to talk, I can shut up and listen. Or we can get wasted on tequila and watch TV. I'm happy just to be near you.”
“But?” I ask, as his palm presses flat into my back, pushing my body towards his.
“But I'd much prefer to fuck you.”
I gulp.