Page 68 of The Gambler's Prize
“Have I upset you?” I ask.
“Absolutely not,” he says, surprising me with his vehemence. He seems almost angry. “Why would you say that?”
“Because we made love before but now you won’t even kiss me. If you don’t want to, just say the word and I won’t ever ask again.”
It might kill me, but I’ll leave him alone if that’s what he wants. My face is on fire as I say all this. I’m never this forward about deep stuff. Propositioning people I barely know? Sure. Dancing on tables to catch the attention of strangers, sucking them off in alleyways? Easy. But talking like this, making it clear Ireallywant someone and not just for a night? Never. Grimes takes my face in his hands and looks right at me, so close the russet in his dark eyes is visible. My breath stops in my chest, held by the power of his gaze.
“I want to, Florian,” he says.
“So why won’t you?”
“Because... Because of everything that’s happened between us. There’s so much history, and none of it is good. Honestly, it’s a fucking mess. Plus, you just had a traumatic experience. You need some time to process that.”
“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” I ask.
He sighs, an unsatisfactory answer. Then he heaves himself out of bed, looking so serious. He’s such an overthinker. I won’t pressure him any more.
I can wait.
**
I start to doubt that when things stay infuriatingly exactly the same between us over the next few days. Days turn into a couple of weeks, and I start to think I’m going crazy living in such close proximity to him. My body is attuned to his every move. The way he gazes out the window at night, his gaze sweeping the yard like a guard dog before drawing the curtains against the hostile outdoors. Folding that powerful body to sit next to me in the living room, arousing and cozy and domestic at the same time. The way he dries his hands and his forearms muscles ripple with the slightest movement. His hairy knuckles... Shit. There’s something wrong with me if I’m lusting after his hairy knuckles. It’s all his fault. Why’d he have to give me a taste—just one taste—of that body and then decide he’s too noble to fuck me again?
Whodoesthat?
Grimes, apparently.
It’s not just his body. It’s the way he treats me. He looks at me with this indulgent kindness in his eyes now. He’s warm andeven funny in a weird, wry, cynical kind of way. I guess this is the real him, now that he’s stepped out his bitterness and hatred. It’s like watching a snake shedding an old skin. He seems to like having me here, too. I’m not his servant anymore, and I don’t have to stay here, but neither of us has mentioned my moving out. What are we, anyway? Friends, roommates? He doesn’t look at his other friends the way he looks at me. As much as he likes Breta, he doesn’t listen to her stories with a delighted smile curving his lips and his dark eyes alight.
“Er, Grimes?” I say one evening.
“Yes?” He folds up his newspaper and looks at me over it, giving me his full attention. The glasses he wears when he reads are so unconsciously sexy, and he has no idea. They make him look all thoughtful and quietly in control.
“Should I… get a job?” I suggest. “So I can pay you rent?”
He scowls. “I don’t need your money, Florian.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly.
“Don’t be.” His face softens. “Don’t be so quick to apologize. But I really don’t need rent. I love having you here.”
“And I love being here.”
Love. Saying the word unlocks something in me. All at once, courage I never knew I had springs up from somewhere. I stand up, walk over to the sofa where he sits, and sit beside him.
“I loveyou,” I whisper before I lose my nerve.
He stares at me. “You couldn’t,” he says flatly.
“I do.” I stamp on the ground for emphasis.
“Sorry, did you just stamp your foot like a small child?”
“Er, yes, I suppose I did.”
He bursts out laughing, enraging me. “Your spoiled little aristocrat side is coming out. It’s cute.”
I’m strongly tempted to stomp my foot again, but I resist.
