Page 50 of Stanton Adore

His eyes drop once more. “The curve of your waist. I love how you’re cinched in here.” He runs his finger from my breast down to the curve of my waist. “And those beautiful tits.” He brings his lips down to the base of my neck and runs his open mouth back up to the top as he tightens his grip on my stomach. “Your smile.” Goose bumps have scattered all over my body.

“My smile?” I whisper.

“Yes, your smile, it melts me. Those dimples.” He bites my neck hard. “I fucking love them.” Of all the things I thought he would say, that was the last, but for some reason it means the most.

“Josh,” I whisper as I bring my hand up around the back of his neck. My head drops back again. No longer able to resist, I turn to face him, and we stand in silence. Our eyes lock.

“Can I help you in there? How are you going for sizes?” The idiot salesclerk is back. For fuck’s sake, will everybody stop interrupting us? I’m about to lose it. He jumps back and runs his both hands through his hair. Obviously as frustrated as I am.

“No thanks, I am taking the one I’ve got.”

Josh comes close to my ear and whispers. “You are not wearing that dress to the wedding.”

I frown at him. “Watch me.”

“I mean it, don’t fuck with me.”

I scowl at him. “You can’t tell me what to wear, Joshua.”

“Yes, I can, and since when have you called me Joshua?” he mutters as he leaves the change room. I narrow my eyes at myself in the mirror as I re-dress. I call you Joshua when you piss me off, asshole, and recently that’s all the bloody time.

I exit to see him at the cashier with his credit card out. He looks at me deadpan. I walk over and place the last two dresses on the counter and get my wallet out.

“I’ve got it,” he snaps. I roll my eyes and wish the annoying salesclerk would leave so I can tell him to fuck right off. Who does he think he is?

We walk to the car in silence. I’m not playing his stupid game. If he’s got the shits, then he can come clean about what. I’m not asking. He stalks into a coffee shop just where the car is parked. After ordering us two coffees he returns to where I have sat. He sits and starts to read the paper that has been left on the table. Am I in the twilight zone? What the hell just happened? One minute he is telling me my smile turns him on and biting my neck. The next minute he’s snapping orders. I’m too tired to deal with this shit today. I’ve hardly slept all week. I wait for my coffee in silence. His name is called, and he goes and retrieves our order. I take it without a thank you. If he wants rude, two can play at that game. He sips his coffee while watching me. I ignore him.

“You are not wearing that dress with Syral.”

“It’s Simon.” I roll my eyes. “And yes, I am. I gave you the chance to be my date and you turned it down, remember?”

He shakes his head as he drinks his coffee. “I told you, don’t threaten me.”

“And I told you, don’t tell me what to do.”

“When did I tell you what to do?”

“When you told me not to wear the dress.”

“I mean to the wedding for Christ’s sake. Someone will fuck you on the bridal table.”

I break into a smile—surely he can’t be serious. “You had better come then, to protect me.”

His eyes twinkle and he shakes his head. “Who will protect you from me?” He gives me a wink as he sips his coffee.

I smile. Bastard, he’s got me. “Are you coming or not?” “Yes,” he snaps.

Hah! I won. I chalk up a silent victory. “Can you take me home now?” I say sweetly as I bat my eyelids. “You’ve dragged me around the shops enough for today.” He smirks as he shakes his head.

The drive home is awkward. I am deep in thought about how I can prolong our visit and I have no idea what’s running through his mind. Twice though, he cracks his neck. So that’s a good sign. He pulls up at my house and turns off his car, but he seems nervous. I’m nervous—can I do this?

“Do you want to come up for coffee?” I grab his hand. I internally kick myself. Coffee, we just had frigging coffee. What a lame thing to say. He looks down at our entwined fingers as he swallows, and I can almost hear his brain ticking.

“It’s not a good idea, Presh.” The sound of him calling me Presh, which is short for precious, his pet name for me, opens a wound in my chest that I can’t deny. I nod, unable to speak. I can feel the tears forming. I don’t want to say goodbye. What’s going on with me? I’m acting like a lovesick fifteen-year-old. My eyes cloud over and I go to quickly get out of the car before he sees. Too late, he grabs me by the arm.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers. I shake my head, the lump in my throat blocking my vocals.

“Tash, talk to me.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye, Josh.” His eyes drop. “We can’t even be friends, can we?” I ask.

“We can be friends, Tash. It just can’t be like it was with us.”

“I know,” I whisper. I get out of the car and turn and give him a wave. “Thanks for taking me shopping.” I smile. He nods but doesn’t say anything. I head into the building and take the stairs. I need to clear my brain. I feel so needy. This is unlike me. I walk into my apartment, head for my bedroom and flop onto the bed. Hot tears are wetting my cheeks and I don’t even know why. That’s a lie. I do. I want him to want me as much as I want him. I head to my therapy of choice and have a steaming-hot shower. I sit on the bottom of the shower feeling sorry for myself, like I have done thousands of times before. The tears have stopped finally. I’m in there so long the room is full of steam.

I stand up and open the door so I can turn the fan on. I’m hit with the visual of Joshua leaning up against the wall in the bathroom. How long has he been there watching me? Did he hear me cry? His eyes search mine for the second time today and my breath catches.