“I love you more than anything,” she said, immediately. “I’ve never loved anyone or anything, but I love you.”
He breathed out in a rush, sour morning breath against her face.
“But, I mean.” She cupped his jaw in her hand, the sharp line of it like cut glass against her palm. And then, caught between her better judgement and sleepy impulse, she moved her body against his; tried to be sinuous like the temptresses in the grocery store paperbacks she read. “Someone you can…someone…” She blushed, face hot, palms tingling. “Someone to…to make love to. Don’t you want that?”
His reaction was bad.
Embarrassing…for her.
He clamped his hand down on her shoulder and held her there while he pushed back with his own body, breaking the contact between them. At another time, she would have laughed to see his eyes so wide, his mouth open in shock.
Shame flooded her, hot as a brand. She shrank back, letting go of him, pulling her hands into her chest.
His mouth moved silently for a moment. “Red,” he finally said, helpless.
“No, I–”
He caught her with both hands: one on her shoulder, one awkwardly capturing her face. His eyes flared. “Hey.Hey. Listen to me. You are the most important – important person – who’s ever been…I’ve never…” He took a deep breath, expression clamping down with frustration. He’d never expressed himself eloquently.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, but it wasn’t. She’d ruined everything.
“No, listen,” he repeated, eyes blazing now. “Red.Sweetheart.”
Her heart leapt, just a moment. But then…
“I wouldneverdo that to you.”
“Do…” she started, and then understood. “Oh,” she said again, even softer, a bare breath of sound.
“I would never hurt you,” he said.
She glanced away from him, shifting her gaze to his shoulder, the threadbare cotton of his t-shirt. “Hurt me,” she murmured, but it felt like shewashurt. Like he’d reached inside her and broken something fragile and tentative with his bare hands. Snapped it in two without even looking at it first.
“You don’t want me,” she said.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She looked back at him, sharply, because those two things weren’t the same. His face was pained, features twisted up with an emotion she couldn’t label.
He exhaled in a rush. “Where is this coming from?” he asked, but guilt lurked in his eyes.
He’d thought about it, too, she realized. He’d wondered.
Maybe. She hoped.
“I…” she started.
His phone rang, and he rolled away from her to reach for it, breathing a relieved sound.
Red let her hands fall to the mattress and stared at the line of his back, the musculature visible beneath his thin shirt.
He’d said he didn’t want to hurt her.
But he had.
~*~
The phone call was from Jake: news about the truck. Bad news, she guessed, judging by the heavy frown that graced Rooster’s face as he stood and started rummaging through his duffel bag for clothes.
