Say Yes (Hush, Hush 2)

It feels like someone's using a feather to draw figure eights on my thigh.

I inhale an exhausted breath. My eyes are dry as I rouse from a heavy sleep. I try to lick my lips, but I can't move yet.

The airy feeling is back again, tickling my inner thigh. I'm still half-asleep trying to piece together where I am. I listen to the sounds around me. There's an exotic bird chirping, water curling into itself, followed by the warmth of sunlight spilling into the room from a window that had been left open.

It all comes crashing back to me.

Squeezing my eyes, I take a deep breath and force myself to wake up. The sheets are cool as I sweep my legs across them trying to remember when I came inside. My mind is totally blank. A black room of nothing. Last I remember, I was sitting by myself outside until I could swear I saw the sunrise just peak above the horizon.

I lick my lips and reach above my head, arching my back, when I feel pressure at my hip. I glance down my body and find James has laid his head on my stomach, and it's him who's drawing circles on my leg. His body is perpendicular to mine. I watch his eyelashes flutter and realize I still don't have panties on and my knee is bent up. I've never shied away from James before. Countless times I’ve woken with his head between my thighs or with him inside of me saying he couldn't wait. The mornings were mine to have him any way I wanted, while the evenings were his. But I suddenly feel like I'm too exposed after the way we left things last night and I shift my legs until they're closed.

This is the first time I didn't wake in his arms.

We didn't make love as the sun came up.

He didn't tell me I'm his forever, and I didn't tell him he's mine.

And I fucking hate it.

Threading my fingers through his salt and pepper hair, I remember when he told me he wanted to let it grow out a little. Now it's slightly longer than most men's, but not long enough for a man bun. I draw the line at sharing hair ties.

"When did I come inside?" I ask, my voice still full of sleep. I want to get up to get a drink of water, but I can barely bring myself to move. I'm too tired and I think I'm a little depressed from last night.

"You didn't. I carried you in," James says. "You fell asleep out there."

"Oh." I frown.

James wraps an arm around my waist and hugs me the same way he does pillows. He turns his head to look at me and lays it back on my stomach. My body tenses, unsure what I'm going to see.

Our eyes meet, and regret and sadness spills from both of us.

"My mind is a little hazy. I don't remember being carried in."

"How's your head? Do you have a hangover?"

I think about it for a second.

Bringing my hand to his jaw, I run the back of my knuckles down his beard and then over the golden curve of his shoulder until my nails are gently scratching his back.

"My head is fine," I say. "The benefit of good alcohol—no hangover."

He doesn't smile. Instead, he laces his fingers with mine and scoots our joined hands to my side. There's a quiet reserve floating around him this morning. I know James well enough to know how he feels, and right now he feels alone and like he's settling again. I know this because I'm just like him. We bleed the same emotions, the same feelings, the same humor, the same sexual desires. We're each other's other half. What one feels, the other does too. And what he’s feeling fucking kills me.

He's waiting. Being patient. Watching me. The morning sunrise casts a gorgeous radiance across his eyes creating the palest blue. They flicker with clarity. With the hope I had a change of heart.

But he knows I didn't. He's too perceptive for that.

"What's the reason, Aubrey?"

I swallow thickly from the sound of pure dejection in James's voice. He sounds like he didn't sleep.

"I already told you."

He levels an unfiltered stare at me. James is not going to stop until he gets the answer I'm keeping from him.

"The real reason, sweetheart. And not the bullshit excuse that you think a fucking piece of paper is going to ruin what we have. I deserve better than that."

The rawness in his words cut deep, but it's warranted. Our connection runs deeper to fathom than coming up with something so frivolous. A reason like mine is a joke to him, and probably to most as well. It would've been a joke to me too, but who knew this is what love would feel like? Once this imaginary love line is crossed, there's no turning back. The further you get, the deeper you're pulled in. We flew past that by our second date as James and Valentina. Even when we weren't together, there was no denying the force being pushed at in our hearts.