In a blink, everything quiets. The small window of bliss we just experienced is still cracked open, still full of promise, as his forehead falls between my shoulder blades. While he catches his breath, hot against my back, his hands smooth over my skin near my hips. It feels like the most intimate of gestures compared to what we just did.
I sense the moment Huxley realizes the same thing, his hands suddenly falling still, his head lifting away from me, and the window slams shut.
As soon as he pulls out, I push myself up from the desk and turn to face him.
He’s avoiding eye contact, throwing the condom in the trash, and zipping up his pants. I do the same, pulling up my jeans as the silence turns awkward. I hate it just as much as I hate how conflicted I feel right now.
We should be talking about this.
We should be squashing whatever is happening between us once and for all.
But my stubbornness keeps my lips tightly shut.
I expect Huxley to storm off, but he lingers near the closed door, and for a second, I think that maybe he’ll be the first to address the elephantin the room.
He sighs as he runs a palm over his buzzed head, his eyes finally sliding to mine.
“My paycheck,” he says.
I clear my throat. “Right.”
His stupid, fucking paycheck.
Opening the top desk drawer, I riffle through a pile of loose papers until I find it and wordlessly hand it over.
He slowly pulls it out of my grasp and shoves it into his coat pocket.
“Thanks,” he mutters.
He turns to leave but stops. He seems to deliberate before he takes a large step toward me and grabs me by the neck. Pulling me into him, he kisses me. It’s hard and quick and over before I even realize he’s done it.
He leaves without saying another word, leaving me standing there, breathless. I bring my fingers to my mouth, the force of the kiss still lingering on my lips.
What the hell wasthat?
39
HUXLEY
“Shit,” I say under my breath as I push open the theatre exit door and step outside. “Fucking fuck,” I mutter again.
Dragging a clammy palm down my face, I stuff my hands in my bomber jacket and start walking as far away from the Remington—and Connie—as possible.
I’m trying to suck in the cold air to calm myself down, but my heart is beating so fast that I wonder if I should head to the nearest hospital and loudly declare that I’m having a heart attack.
What the fuckwasthat?
God, she makes me so fucking crazy. Andwhycan’t I use my words for once in my stupid fucking life?
Spotting a corner store, I dip inside to quickly buy a fresh pack of cigarettes. Before walking out, I unwrap the film from the new pack and throw it in the trash. I’m about to crumble my old pack and throw it out too, but stop myself at the very last second.
I look down.
Open the pack.
Pull out the one last cigarettein there.
It still hasConnie Broadbentscrawled on it.
