I laugh, to lighten it. “Well, now you stand accused of being a good man, Thai Bristow. How do you plead?”
“Trying,” he whispers. “Trying like hell.”
“You don’t have to…make anything up to me. I hope you understand that.”
“I realized that myself, actually. Although, it was more that I realized I never could. Since I can’t change the past, can’t take back words or actions, I also can’t make up for it. I have to just stand on my feet and accept the reality that I did what I did, and how it affected you.” A pause, and I hear him swallow. “I can’t make up for it. I just have to…be better. Be different. Do the right thing, and be honest, and be real. Show you who I…I want to say who I am, but I think it’d be closer to the truth if I said who I’m trying to be.”
“Who you are, Thai.” I repeat it. “Who youare.”
It’s kind of freeing, in a weird, almost disorienting way, to not have the burden of hatred for him that I’ve carried for so long. And I’m realizing in this moment as I talk through all this with him, that the burden of hate was…it was fucking exhausting. It was a huge weight, an acidic lump inside me, eating at me, holding me back.
“If I could offer you a piece of advice I’ve learned from my own journey,” I say, “it’d be that you have to not just admit your faults, but you also have to speak into yourself the solution. You have to say that youarewho youwantto be. For me, I had to—stillhave to—repeat to myself that I’m…healthy. Strong. That Iama runner. Iaman attractive person. Worthy of accepting myself. Worthy of…being wanted. That my body is mine, and Ilikeit. I have to tell myself that Ilikemy hips. Ilikemy butt. I like my waist. I even like the stretch marks. Ilikemy thighs.” I swallow, realizing I’m talking to myself, now, more than him. “I have to look at myself in the mirror—some days this is harder than others—and I have to look at the parts of me that Idon’tlike that day, that I’m self-conscious about, and I have to say that I like them. That they’re beautiful—thatI’mbeautiful. That I’m sexy. That I’m rockin’ it in the miniskirt, with my chub-rub thighs and all. Even if it feels like a lie, I say it. Out loud. Because if I can’t convince myself of it, ifIdon’t believe it…who will?”
“That takes a hell of a lot of strength,” he says.
“Yeah, it does.” I smile, and I figure he can probably hear it. “But it’s worth it.”
A brief silence, which I break.
“Thai, there’s one more hurdle that I’m working on.”
“What’s that?”
“Admitting to myself and accepting…and even maybe learning to embrace that…that I’m really,reallyattracted to you. That the things we’ve done aren’t wrong. That I have no reason to be embarrassed by anything. That I want more with you.”
“Sounds like a pretty big hurdle,” he says.
“The biggest of all,” I admit.
“There’s no hurry, Delia. You don’t have to jump over that hurdle all in one day. The horny part of me is crazy fucking impatient to get you naked again and…to do a lot of very bad things to you. But I can wait. I want it to be right. I want you to feel comfortable and ready and…yeah—I want you to be ready.”
I bite my lip, closing my eyes in anticipation of mortification and embarrassment. “If I was more fully over that hurdle,” I whisper, “I’d ask you what kinds of things.”
His laugh is low and amused and wicked. “Strip you naked and bend you over my bed—or yours, I’m not picky—and lick you until you scream. Or…beg you to wrap those sexy, sassy, smart lips around my cock. Put you on your hands and knees and fuck you from behind, so hard your beautiful ass shakes. Maybe even spank you until that ass is nice and pink.” He groans, a tortured sound. “And more than anything? You, on top. Riding me. Sinking down on me, those big lush tits swinging in my face.” Another pause, a harsh sigh. “Fuck, now I’m hard as a goddamn rock.”
I moan. “Holy shit, Thai,” I whisper.
“Too much?”
“Hell no,” is my immediate answer. “Not enough.” I blow out a breath, taut with new and nascent desire. “I want that. All of that.”
“I’ve…let’s just say I’ve dreamed about that. A lot.”
“You have?”
He groans, a gruff grunt. “Yeah, Dee, I have.” A muffled sound, as of him shifting the phone to the other hand. “Want the truth?”
“Always.”
“When I say I’ve dreamed of it, what I mean is I’ve fantasized about it. All of that and so much more.”
“I’m your fantasy?”
“Yeah.”
“I had no idea.” I force out the question I’m really thinking. “What do you do…when you have these fantasies about doing that stuff to me?”
“You know damn well what I do,” he growls. “I picture you, doing what you did to me today. I do that to myself, only it’s not anywhere even close to as good as how it felt when it was actually you, actually your hands on me instead of my own.”
