Page 41 of Unbearable

“I did,” I breathe out, his body pressing into mine as his hands rest on the washing machine trapping me in his embrace.

He steps around me so he’s standing beside me, his arm brushing mine, fingers dancing over mine. “And that means?”

He’s acting like this should be casual and I’ll tell you right now, Tyler and I haveneverever been casual. We’re undefined and undecided.

When I don’t say anything, he leans in and whispers in my ear repeating his question, “What does it mean?”

His words are no longer a question, they’re a statement, maybe even an observation he’s found a weakness, because I can’t tell him what it means. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

He blows out a long breath and tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “I might not ask.”

Might. It’s a big might and potentially a lie. I think.

The wetness of the stain remover soaks through my shirt. “I have to change my shirt.” Stepping around him, I separate myself from his heat and retrieve a shirt from my room.

Taking the shirt to the bathroom, I change and I’m stepping out of the bathroom when Tyler’s leans outside of it, waiting.

“What are you doing?” I ask when he turns and blocks me from coming out.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” He takes a step and I back up into the bathroom where he closes the door behind him.

Shit. I’m trapped.

“Tyler….” I sigh. I know where this is heading.

Our gaze catches. “What?”

I reach out to him. I just can’t help myself, my hands on his jaw and the roughness of the sharp line.

“I miss you.”

I don’t say anything.

“Things have really gone to shit lately,” he mumbles, dejected and steps forward, a position much like moments ago in the laundry room as he cages me in.

“I wouldn’t know,” I tell him. “You haven’t texted me or called in three weeks. I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

He won’t look at me; instead, his gaze is on our touching bodies as he traps me against the counter. His body shifts into mine, contact I can’t ignore, a sensation of jitters buzzing through me. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

I want to cry, I do, but I’m not going to. Instead, I’m left wondering where he’s going with this and why after three weeks, he’s telling me this. My brain can’t wrap around the fact that he does miss me. He probably misses my vagina. That’s all. It has nothing to do with me.

This time he touches my chin and lifts my eyes to his. “Do you believe me?”

His fingers on me weaken the hold I’ve had on myself, the fear that I’ll give in and melt for him takes over and I swallow, hard. “I believe you missed my V.”

He presses his palm against the bathroom counter and leans into me until our chests are touching and he takes my breath from my lungs with the motion. “I don’t know what it is about you, Raven, but it’s not going away,” he confesses, his eyes cutting to mine and I hardly recognize them. Something inside of him has changed over the last three weeks.

“You act like it’s something bad.”

He sighs heavily, his chest expanding into mine. “For me it is.” His eyes drop to the floor creating a foot of space between us, his warmth dissipating and I want to shiver at the coolness surrounding me. I want his heat to return.

The look on his face sends a pang of guilt through me. I certainly don’t have anything to feel guilty about, but then again, maybe I do.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry I’m making this hard for you.” I don’t even know what I mean by that, but I say it anyway.

His eyes narrow, his breaths hard and fast and he swiftly grabs my face between his palms forcing me to look at him. The heat returns, scorching and uncontrollable as every other moment I have around him.

“Don’t ever be sorry,” he breathes out in a pained whisper, the smell of whiskey washing over me. He closes his eyes and exhales. He’s hurting. I can see that.

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