Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) (21 page)

“What are we doing?” she asks when I walk past her room.

“Going to my room.”

“Why? I thought—” The words catch in her throat when I turn to face her.

“I want you with me tonight. You don’t have to, but—”

“I want to,” she interrupts, squeezing my hand.

A grin pops onto my face and we continue our route to my bedroom. Our nightly routines are mostly the same. I’m in bed first and happen to notice Brittany giving her wrist a quick squeeze as she walks over and climbs in. Lily jogs into the room and jumps onto the bed as I reach over to turn off the lamp. Brittany seems so far away. Is she lying along the edge or something? I roll onto my side.

“You want to sleep in here, right?” Maybe she doesn’t really.

“Yeah, I do,” she answers.

“Then get over here.”

She laughs. “Oh. Sorry. I got lost in my head and didn’t realize.” Brittany moves into my arms, her legs tangling with mine. Her head bumps into my chin, making us both laugh a little. Her nose brushes mine as she rests her head on the pillow. “Sorry.” I feel her breath and smell the mint scent from it.

“It’s okay.”

“Why’d you want me in here? I mean, despite the term, roommates don’t share a bedroom, and I thought there wouldn’t be any of this.”

I don’t know how to explain it any more than what I said earlier. I want her here with me. With her being this close, I wonder when the last time I kissed her was. A real kiss. Not that quick kiss we had this morning before we parted ways. When the hell was it?

“Trace?”

I close the short distance between us, pressing my lips to hers. She’s still at first, but when I start to trail my tongue where her lips meet, she opens her mouth for me. Game over. A little sigh comes from Brittany. All of my senses seem to come to life. There’s the faint scent of something fruity coming from her hair thanks to her shampoo. My hand resting on her lower back has pulled her tight against me until I can feel her legs, stomach, and breasts against my body. Short huffs of air leave us both when we take a moment to breathe. Lastly, she tastes like a mixture of mint and something else that is unique to her.

A particular body part starts to swell and I do my best to ignore it. Still not time for that step. Instead, I focus on the sliding of our lips, the dance of our tongues, and immerse myself into the kiss. I don’t even realize I’ve rolled Brittany onto her back, with my body half on hers, until her hands plant themselves on my shoulders and push me away. She stares at me, our chests shifting against one another as we breathe heavily.

“Trace,” she begins softly. “I think it’s time to get some sleep.”

“Yes, it is,” I agree. I flop onto my back and she snuggles up to me without hesitation.

Brittany works late every day this week. Unless I take her hand and lead her to my bedroom, she goes and sleeps in her room. She’s been tired, so we haven’t had a chance to go out, but she hasn’t had a bad day yet. My hope is that her meds are working. It’s too soon to know for sure, though.

Ben’s birthday is today. He’s having a cookout and pool party at his house. Brittany and Melissa have gone bathing suit shopping since Brittany didn’t feel like going through her bins to find hers. Part of me is happy to go, get out of the house, but on the other hand, I wouldn’t mind holing up in the house. Not for any specific reason. I’m feeling okay. Sometimes, you just want to stay home. And sometimes, that’s exactly when you need to leave.

The girls are giggling when they walk into the house. There’s more than one bag, which means they shopped for more than just a bathing suit. Brittany picked Melissa up, who then decided to ride with us to the party.

“Y’all are cutting it close,” I say from my recliner. We’re supposed to leave in thirty minutes.

“Who cares about being there on time?” Melissa asks.

“I do,” Brittany and I both say at the same time. We laugh. I’m certain there’s something in the DNA of people with anxiety that makes them hate being late.

“C’mon. Let’s get ready.” Brittany drags Melissa down the hall and to her room.

It takes forty minutes for them to return. How in the hell does it take forty minutes to put on a bathing suit? It takes me ten minutes, and that includes putting on sunscreen and grabbing a towel and a change of clothes. They emerge wearing a cover-up, and we leave.

Brittany and I have kissed some this week, but she always pulls away when it starts getting heated. Which is totally fine, except it means my mind lurks in the gutter more often than not. I’m so unbelievably ready and equally nervous to see her in a bikini. Not that I can’t control myself, but I know that image of her is going to be stamped in my mind for a while.

However, I’m starting to wonder why we’re waiting. Part of me still thinks it’s a good idea. We’re waiting until Brittany truly trusts me again. Sex, especially for women, intertwines with their emotions and I don’t want that influencing her in any way. But the other part of me wonders what it’s going to take for her to do that. I can still feel her holding back on me. I think my blunder with telling her she can stay here contributed to that. It watered her seed of hesitation.

I’m all in for the long haul and beyond. I just need to get her to see that. The looming question is
how
. Maybe I’m expecting too much from her too soon. Maybe we just need to keep the pressure close to nonexistent and the dates fun and sweet.

Who the hell knows what we need?

I
’m so confused.

I already know I’m overthinking things, but I have a tendency to do that when it concerns Trace. We’re dating, we’re together, and I’m living with him for the time being. We’re supposed to be
roommates
. A rule he insisted on, but then he goes and pulls me into his room every other night to kiss the hell out of me until I pull away.

Living with him is screwing with my head.

I love parts of it. Like how we have routines. How when I do sleep in Trace’s room, he wakes up first, showers, and then kisses my forehead, cheeks, eyes, and lips as he softly says my name, telling me to wake up. How Trace has had a delicious meal waiting for me when I get home from the long day. How we’ll lie in his chair sometimes and it isn’t because everything has gone to shit or because we feel like we’re drowning. I love how I’ll go to bed before him and he still stops by my room to give Lily a gentle, quiet encouragement to sleep with me. How sometimes, he’ll text me during the day to either ask how it’s going, or tell me to breathe and take a moment to relax.

But being his girlfriend and living with him as a supposed roommate isn’t working for me. It’s why I’ve been using my lunch breaks to find an apartment. Now, I have to tell Trace I’m moving out next weekend. I’ve known since Wednesday because I blurted it out to my therapist. She so thinks I’m worrying over this too much, but I can’t help it.

“What are you thinking about?” Trace reaches through the water to grab my hips and tug me closer. I wrap my legs loosely around his waist, resting my hands on his shoulders.

“I’ll tell you later.”

He frowns. “Tell me now, then you can stop thinking about it.”

“I think we should wait.”

He rests his forehead against mine, fixating his gaze on me. “Tell me. Is it bad?”

“No, it’s good news.” I take a quick breath. “I’m moving out next weekend.”

His fingers twitch on my hips, causing them to dig in a little more. “How?” He pulls away from me a bit. “I mean, I thought you didn’t even have time to look?”

“I used my lunch break,” I reply weakly. This is supposed to be a good thing, but he’s acting as if it’s not. Did he or did he not say, “You could move in with me. Until you find a new place, I mean.” I’ve found a new place. I followed through on our plan. What’s the issue here?

Trace isn’t helping me out either. He’s just staring at me with his lips parted, as if he’s about to say something, but no words are leaving his mouth. “You’re leaving?” he finally manages to say.

“Yes. I’m leaving, like I’m supposed to. It’s a nice place, the rent is cheaper than what I was paying, and it’s not too terribly far from work. It’s a studio apartment, but it works for what I need right now,” I ramble, starting to panic since I can’t read what he’s feeling, other than the fact that he’s not happy for me. “Why aren’t you saying anything? This is good. I don’t think either of us want to live together as an actual couple yet. All you have to say is that’s great, I’m happy for you, or something like that. Those are all good responses to keep from sticking your foot in your mouth, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“Brittany,” Melissa has rushed over, standing on the concrete behind Trace. “I need you for a second.”

I glance at Trace.

“Go ahead.” He lets me go and I climb out of the pool to follow Melissa, grabbing my towel along the way.

“What is it?”

She looks nervous all of a sudden. “Nothing, but y’all looked like y’all were about to have an argument, so I thought I’d save you.”

“I told him I was moving out, and he seems unhappy, which is crazy, right?”

“Maybe he wants you to stay,” she suggests.

“He only offered because I was out of options. It was supposed to be short term and how can he know after a week if he’d want to make it permanent?”

Melissa shrugs. “I don’t know. Because y’all survived it and he actually liked having you there? Stop thinking as if it was temporary. Based on your time there, would you want to live with him?”

“I...” I don’t know. I mean, yeah, it was great, but living together?

“You still don’t trust him,” Melissa says quietly. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be hesitating so much. Take this from the girl who never trusted anyone: life without trust becomes lonely.”

“I can’t force it.”

She rests her hand over mine, which is currently squeezing the hell out of my wrist. “No, but you can be more open.”

“That’s what my therapist keeps telling me.”

She laughs. “I don’t know if it’s good or bad that I’m spitting out advice similar to hers.”

Fingertips softly land on my lower back and I glance over my shoulder to see Trace. “I need to talk to you.”

Without waiting, he leads me to a quiet corner of Ben’s yard. It’s hard to be too nervous about whatever he’s going to say when I’m distracted by the seemingly millions of droplets sliding down his gorgeous chest, some growing too heavy on the points of his hair and falling to their deaths on his torso.

“Is it final?”

“Is what final?” I ask, confused as I bring my gaze up to his.

Trace grabs the back of his neck and gives it a good squeeze. “You leaving.”

“I sign the paperwork Monday, if that’s what you mean. Why is this a big deal, Trace?”

“You don’t like living with me.” Supposed to be a question, but his tone makes it a statement.

“No, I do.”

“Then what’s the rush?”

My eyebrows pull together. “The rush? There isn’t one. You told me I could stay until I found a place. I found a place. What’s the problem?”

“Because I liked having you there!” he vehemently says in a hushed voice.