I can’t seem to get enough of you.
I step forward, wanting to touch him. Craving any kind of connection with him, needing to remind him of that spark between us when we touch and to try and prevent him from slipping through my fingers. Like trying to grab the wind. I reach my trembling hands out, his eyes following their movement, and lay them on his chest. I feel him stiffen in response, a proverbial slap at my attempt to connect with him that pushes me over the edge.
My eyes flash up to his, and I see that he knows how much he just hurt me with that small flinch—the nonverbal rejection that just spoke volumes. He instinctively brings his arms up to wrap them around me, to try and placate me, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him pull me into the one place I want to be more than anywhere else right now because nothing between us has changed. And I know if I’m wrapped in his arms, I will succumb to everything all over again so I won’t lose what I fear the most—him. But I deserve the whole him that he’s unable—no, unwilling—to give me.
I push against his chest, but his hands tighten their grip on my shoulders. He tries to pull me into him, but I struggle against him. When he doesn’t react…I lose it. “Fight damn it! Fight, Colton!” I yell at him, desperation seeping as my voice wavers and tears threaten. “For you. For us. For me,” I plead. “You don’t get to pull away from me. You don’t get to walk away without a second thought.” I’m still trying to resist his hold, but the dam breaks and the tears overflow. “I matter, Colton. I deserve the same more that you do. What we have is not inconsequential!”
Overcome with emotion, I succumb to my tears, my fears, the emptiness looming. I stop resisting him and he gathers me in his arms and pulls me to him, his hands running up and down over my back and arms and neck. The feeling is bittersweet because I know it’s fleeting. I know that the words I so desperately want and need to hear—that this is something…that we are something…anything to him—are never coming.
I consciously etch this moment to my memory.
His warmth.
The rasp of his calloused fingers across my bare skin.
The clenching of his jaw against my temple.
The timbre of his hushed murmurs.
His scent.
I close my eyes to absorb it because I know I’ve scared him. I know I’m asking for too much when there are so many others willing to settle for so much less.
“Rylee…” My name is a whispered hush over my now tearless sobs.
I fall silent, my hitching breath the only sound in the night. I lean back, his hands on my shoulders guiding me so he can see my face. I steel myself before looking up to meet his eyes. I can see fear and confusion and uncertainty in them, and I’m waiting for him to verbalize what’s on the tip of his tongue. His internal struggle plays out on his usually stoic face before he reins it in. My chest aches as I try to draw in a breath and prepare myself because what I see makes me panic. Has me resigning all of my fate because I know he’s preparing himself to walk away.
To say goodbye.
To break me apart.
“I deserve more, Colton.” I breathe out, shaking my head as a single tear trails down my cheek. His eyes follow it before looking back at me, and for a moment they soften with concern, his throat working a swallow as he nods his head in agreement. I reach a hand out and place it on his jaw, his eyes cautiously tracking my movements. I feel his jaw muscles tighten beneath my palm. “I know this is the whole reason you have your rules and stipulations, but I can’t abide by them anymore. I can’t be that girl for you anymore.”
I lower my head at my last comment, avoiding his eyes because I can’t bear to see the reaction. Wanting and not getting one or wanting and being rejected—either one will shred my heart more than it already is. I sigh deeply, eyes focused intently on his impromptu pocket square and my mind marveling how simple things seemed just a couple of hours ago when he was underdressed and I was overdressed.
He tenses his fingers on my biceps, and I force myself to look back up at him—glad I did because the look in his eyes takes my breath away. My gorgeous bad boy looks like a child—panic stricken and petrified. I struggle to find words to speak because standing there with that look in his eyes; he looks just like one of my damaged boys. It takes a moment, but I’m finally able to find my voice.
“I’m sorry, Colton.” I shake my head. “You did nothing wrong tonight but be the man that you are…but seeing your exes here tonight still wanting more...” I sigh “...I don’t want to be them in three months. On the outside looking in. I can’t stand by and blindly obey the parameters you dictate anymore. I want to have a say.” He shakes his head back and forth, automatically rejecting the idea, and I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. The grip of his hands tightens on my arms, but he says nothing to refute what I’m saying.
“I’m not asking for love from you, Colton.” My voice is barely a whisper when I speak, but my conscience is screaming that I am. That I want him to love me the way I love him. His eyes widen at my confession. His sharp intake of air audible. “I’m not even asking for a long-term commitment from you. I just want to be able to explore whatever this is between us without worrying about overstepping imaginary boundaries that I don’t even know exist.” I stare at him, willing him to hear my words. Really hear what I’m saying, not just what he wants to hear. “I’m asking to be your lover, Colton, not your happily ever after or your structured arrangement. All I want is a chance...” My voice trails off, asking for the impossible. “For you to tell me you’ll try…”