Page 60 of Light in the Dark
"I don't do casual sex, Felix." I crush-grip his hand with mine. "Whatever it may have been, it wasn't casual."
"It's okay if it is."
I frown. "I'm not sure—I'm not sure I want you to be okay with it being casual, Fee."
He chuckles. "I'm just saying, no expectations. I know I have no claim on your heart because we…" he shrugs. "Hooked up, sort of."
"I feel like you're maybe not being totally truthful with me, Fee."
His expression shutters. "You don't need to worry about my feelings."
"But I do," I whisper. "I'm not running away from you. I just…I need to be alone to process things."
"Ember. I get it."
"We only talked about me," I say. "I never even asked you about you. About why you keep running away from letting me touch you."
"When you come back, ask me anything. Okay? I'll tell you the whole unvarnished truth."
I bite my lip, glancing at the idling vehicle. "I'm nervous about borrowing that. It looks old and valuable."
He twists to look at it, patting the hood. "Old, yes. Valuable? To a degree. As is, it's worth twenty, maybe twenty-five grand. I haven't done anything to it, so it's pretty much all original. If I do a thorough restoration, it could be worth more like fifty." He rolls a shoulder. "It's in good working order, but it's still a fifty-year-old vehicle, so it is possible something might break down on it. I don't anticipate it happening, but you should be aware that it’s possible."
I roll my eyes. "Felix, I drive a 1967 Volkswagen Type 2. I grew up driving that same exact vehicle. Mom's father, my grandfather, who died well before I was born, taught my mom a lot about cars and engines, so she did all the maintenance, repairs, and replacements herself, and taught me. I know my way around cars.”
"Well, good. There's a toolkit in the back, in case, and a box of the more common parts that may need to be replaced."
"I'll be fine," I say. "I don't think I'm going anywhere. I just need to think. Process. Figure a few things out in my head. Or, more accurately, get my head, heart, and body in alignment."
The next thing I know, his mouth is covering mine and I'm whimpering at the desperate soft sweetness of his kiss, losing myself in the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his hand framing my cheek and jaw, and I could just live here in this moment, in this kiss, drowning in him, vanishing into his strength and sweetness and depth.
And then he's gone, backing away from me, his gaze haunted for a split second before his expression shutters again.
"Fee," I whisper. "Goddammit, you can't kiss me like that. It's not fucking fair."
"Sorry. I keep forgetting to be more of an asshole."
I knot my fist in the front of his shirt, yank him to me, and kiss him hard and fast. "You can't bemoreof an asshole because you're not an asshole at all."
He snorts derisively. "You don't know the half of it."
I shake my head. "Somehow, I doubt whatever you have to tell me is half as bad as you're making it out to be. Unless you're a totally different person now or something."
He shrugs. "I don't even know anymore." He grabs me by the shoulders and guides me to the driver's side, opens the door, and when I climb in and sit down, he reaches across me and buckles me in. "Your box of antique jewelry and your cash bag are in the safe in my garage, and I'm the only one with the code. Your suitcase is in the back, there."
I twist, seeing my suitcase. "Fee, I'm not leaving."
His answering expression is…complicated. "Not forever, no. I have your bus. But you're a nomad."
"Fee, I—"
He kisses me again, this time soft, hesitant. "Go. Just…go. I think you and I could talk forever."
“That's what scares me, Fee," I whisper.
"I know. Same." He backs away, shuts the door, and shoves his hands in his hip pockets.
Gives me a very male upward jerk of his chin as a goodbye, and then turns on his heel and heads for the house, as if it's too hard to watch me drive away.
