That Girl is Mine - Part Two (3 page)

The pain in my head is the first thing I feel when I regain consciousness the next morning, and I’m afraid to open my eyes and face the day. I don't remember much past dancing with Josh, and the way Dylan looked at me. Oh god, did he say he needs me?

I cover my face with my hands and groan as I remember our conversation and how I burst into tears when Josh interrupted. Oh no, please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid. Please tell me I didn’t tell Josh about the kisses.

Panic speeds up my heart and twists at my stomach, as I frantically try to remember everything I said. But, all I can remember is crying and saying I was sorry, and that was when we were still at the club. I don’t even remember coming back here.

Removing my hands from my face, I push myself into a sitting position and realize there’s something by my feet. When I lift the covers, I see there’s an ice pack, now warm, sitting there, and I wonder if maybe I hurt my ankle in my drunken state last night. I roll it around, and it feels fine, so I risk sitting up further, swinging my feet off the bed so I’m sitting on the side.

I groan again, my head emitting a dull thud and my mouth feeling like cotton wool. Glancing at the nightstand, I hope for a glass of water and find one with two Tylenol sitting next to it. I swallow the pills and drink down the water, running my hands through my hair, but I give up when they get caught in the tangles. Glancing at the clock, I sigh, seeing that it’s after ten and knowing that I’ve missed Josh by hours. I doubt Dylan is here either. I really need to talk to either of them, or both of them, or maybe I shouldn’t be talking to anyone at all… I just know that I feel messed up and last night I made a fool of myself. At the very least, I owe everyone an apology.

Sighing again, I spot my purse sitting on top of the dresser with my folded dress from last night. Leaning forward to retrieve it, I pull out my cell and tap out a message to Josh, telling him how sorry I am for ruining his night off. I don’t expect a reply straight away, but I wait for a moment anyway, staring at the blank screen. Nothing happens, and I chew on my lip, wondering if perhaps I should message Dylan too and apologize for my behavior as well.

Before I can think any further, I begin to type.

I’m sorry about last night.

Immediately I get a reply.

We need to talk. Come downstairs.

Closing my eyes, my heart hammers in my chest. I’m scared to talk to him. I’m scared to face this. But, I know it needs to be done. I can’t be bursting into tears every time I see him and Josh at the same time.

Selecting the messages, I delete them and place my cell back on the nightstand, before I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and head downstairs, holding the wall to balance my unsteady and hungover body.

I pause when my barefoot touches the first floor and my eyes scan the room for Dylan. I don’t see him at first, but then I hear a sound from the kitchen, seconds before the smell of cooking bacon hits my nostrils.

Food.

I walk toward the kitchen and find Dylan at the pans with a dishtowel over his shoulder as he pokes around at the sizzling food. He looks spectacularly good, even though he’s just wearing gym pants and a faded tee. That’s when I remember my own looks and groan inwardly. I didn’t even look in the mirror or comb my hair. I must look a mess.

Quickly, I wipe my fingers under my eyes, hoping I don’t have big black circles of mascara staining my skin. He turns and notices me doing it.

“Hey,” I say quickly, lifting my hand in a wave.

He looks at me with raised eyebrows, and I feel as though I’m in trouble for misbehaving and begin to fidget by twisting the hem of my shirt while I watch him slide the greasy food onto a plate. On to
one
plate. Is he seriously going to sit and eat that in front of me?

“Sit,” he commands, nodding to the stool on my side of the counter. I do as he says, as he turns and places the food in front of me. “Greasy bacon and eggs. It will make you feel better,” he says, handing me a knife and fork before turning around and pouring me coffee and a glass of orange juice. I sit here, looking at my food and watching him as he moves about the kitchen, as if taking care of me after I drank far too much is a normal thing for him. “Eat,” he commands when he glances at me.

Nodding, I pick up my cutlery and begin to dive in, eating rather quickly because I didn’t realize exactly how hungry I was. The heaviness of the food sits firmly in my gut, and somehow the orange juice makes me feel as though I’m awake. I sip my coffee, and he clears my plate away, slotting it into the dishwasher before pouring a coffee for himself and moving to stand across from me.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says with a sigh, meeting my eyes.

Instantly, my eyes start to burn with emotion. “About?” I ask, knowing what he means, but really needing him to spell it all out very plainly for me to understand, because I don’t know what I’m doing either. I feel lost. I feel like my world is cracking in two between my feet, and I don’t know which half to jump to...

She looks so innocent sitting across from me with her blue eyes wide as she waits for me to go on. All morning, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do. For the last two weeks, I’ve been agonizing about it, and last night, seeing her with Josh made me realize that I can’t just sit around a wait for feelings to either go away or stay. I need to do something. But, what? I feel torn about what to do, and the only thing I can think to do is lay my cards on the table. Because right now, even though Avery is hungover with her red hair in knots and the remnants of last night’s makeup still smudged beneath her eyes, she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. I need to make her mine.

“About us, Rusty,” I start. “I don’t know what to do about us. And I’m an asshole, because I don’t think leaving you alone is an option. I know you’re with Josh. And I know he’s my friend. And I feel like the biggest fucking douche on the planet for feeling this way. But, I can’t help it – every time I look at you, I just feel this…this
need
inside me, and it’s eating me up. I need you, Avery. I’ve never needed anyone in my entire life. And I can’t…I can’t turn away from that feeling. I’m sorry it puts you in a bad position. I know it does. But, I can’t walk away. Not when I feel like this.”

Her eyes move between mine, shining brightly with emotion as she takes in a stuttered breath. She opens her mouth as if to say something. Then she clamps her lips together and shakes her head, her face crumpling before she covers it with her hands and sobs.

Quickly, I move around the counter and wrap her in my arms, feeling like even more of a dickhead for making her cry. I’m being selfish. I know I’m being selfish. But, I need her. I’ve never needed anyone.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s just how I feel.”

She looks up at me, her expression furrowed as she shakes her head. I wipe at her tears, my heart aching as I try to comfort her, knowing I’m causing this pain. “I don’t know how I feel, Dylan. I’m just… I’m just so confused.”

“I know,” I whisper, smoothing my hands across her cheeks and into her hair. I press a kiss to her forehead. “I know,” I whisper again. Then I press a kiss to her cheek, before I meet her eyes, looking into them like I’m trying to look into her soul. “I know.” Then I close my mouth over hers and kiss her with absolutely everything I have in me, showing her what she does to me by pouring so much emotion into her that it feels like an out of body experience.

I let go of my mind and just follow the feeling, as her body melts into mine and her arms wrap around my torso, her hands gripping the back of my shirt. I feel her nails scrape against my skin, and a chill runs through me that sets my body on fire, spurring me on.

My hands move down her body, gripping at her hips then pulling her against me, loving the fact she moans into my mouth when my cock presses against her stomach. I reach down and lift her off the ground, my fingers digging into her ass as I place her on the counter and continue kissing her with a fervor unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

I need her. I need her. I need her.

His fingers slide beneath my shirt, skimming across my skin and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It feels like every molecule in my body is screaming for his to somehow merge with mine.
I want him. I need him. I need this. I need more.

I drop my head back as his kisses move from my mouth along my jaw then into the curve of my neck. His fingers find their way to my breast, and he moans when he realizes I’m not wearing a bra. He kneads the tender flesh, his hand scorching into my skin, as he pinches my nipple, sending bolts of lust down to my core.

Then he moves his hands again, placing them on my hips before he pulls me tight against him, grinding his hard rod between my legs, his eyes locked on mine as my mouth falls open in a gasp and my hands immediately move to his shirt, revealing his spectacularly toned body.

He drops it on the floor, lifting my shirt off as well, before swiftly tugging down my jeans and discarding his gym pants. Then before we have even a beat to change our minds, I wrap my legs around him, and take him inside me, my core stretching and pulling as it settles around his girth and slowly absorbs his length. I shudder. I moan, and my body sings because this is exactly what it wanted – what it needed. I needed him inside me, like I needed air to breathe.

Oh god, this feels like so much more than sex. It feels like more than making love. It feels like the stars and the moon and the universe. It feels like everything. It feels like all, and as I scream out, my body shuddering as my core explodes around him, I call his name, kissing him softly, shaking in his arms, crying, because this also feels wrong.

What have we done?

We should have talked about what happened between us. We should have said something about what it meant, and where we were supposed to go from there. But, the moment we pulled apart, the cold reality set of what we just did, and to top it off, my cell was ringing upstairs with Josh’s ringtone – Robert Palmer’s voice singing for a doctor to give him the news in
Bad Case of Loving You
…

It was a sobering moment, and one that had us pulling away from each other and collecting our clothes. We looked at each other. Everything unsaid was in our eyes. Every emotion we felt was shining there for both of us to see. But, we didn’t speak. Instead, we just stared at each other, listening to the goddamn song until it rang out. Then, as if a hypnotist clicked his fingers, I fled upstairs and grabbed my cell, calling Josh back immediately to hear his voice and try to appease some of the guilt that was seeping through my very pores.

I spoke to him only briefly. He didn’t really have time to talk, but wanted to call and make sure I was feeling OK. I closed my eyes, his concern for me cracking into my heart as I tried to hold myself together. “I’m just so very sorry,” I replied, and he chuckled, telling me that we all get a little too drunk at twenty-one. Then he hung up, telling me to rest well and that he’d see me when he got home.

When I disconnected the call, I sat for a moment in the quiet, just trying to breathe and sift through my emotions and place them in some sort of order. But, I couldn’t. I couldn’t work out how I could love Josh yet feel so absolutely attracted to Dylan. In the end, I just cried, and at some point, I must have fallen asleep, because now it’s dark, and I’m lying alone in bed, and I still don’t know what to do. I close my eyes again, fresh tears trailing down my face and wetting my pillow anew.

I don’t think I’ll ever know what to do.

I’m a horrible person. I’m a terrible, horrible person.

Please let this be a dream…

***

At nine o’clock, I wake again, my stomach nagging me for food, and when I go downstairs, walking cautiously in case I run into Dylan and start crying all over again, I find that the house is entirely empty, and when I peak outside, Dylan’s car is gone as well. I wonder where he’s gone this time…

With my heart heavy, and my mind still clouded, I eat a bowl of cereal, my usual appetite not quite as voracious as it usually is thanks to a heavy feeling of guilt weighing down its contents. I wonder for a moment if I should try calling Dylan to talk to him about what happened. Although, what am I going to say? I don’t even really know what it is I feel about it. It was amazing, I’ll give him that. But, it was also wrong, and should never have happened.

When I’m done eating and have put my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, I head upstairs to have a shower in order to wash away the memory of my sins. Cleanliness is close to godliness – isn’t that what they say? I’ve never been religious, so I don’t really know. Although it’s in times of confusion and loneliness that I wish I did believe in something. Because then I’d be able to pray, and maybe then I’d find some sort of guidance.

As the water heats, I turn to the mirror, and for the first time today I actually see my reflection and I actually recoil. My hair looks like it belongs to a witch who uses it to store small birds and mice, and my skin looks grey. My eyes look like they belong to the white walkers in Game of Thrones. Actually, with my current pallor,
I
could be a white walker in Game of Thrones. Dishonesty obviously doesn’t agree with me.

I brush my teeth, then step into the hot shower, spending an extraordinary amount of time in there as I wash and condition my long hair and clean every inch of my body at least five times. What is wrong with me? How did I allow myself to get into this situation where I feel so strongly about two men? Because I do feel strongly. I know, I love Josh. I’ve loved him for a long time. He’s been with me since the beginning of college, and he’s almost as much a part of me as I am. He was supposed to be my future. We were supposed to be each other’s future.

Then there’s Dylan. Beautiful, and complicated Dylan. I feel like I know him in a strange intuitive kind of way. It’s as if I can sense how he feels, and when he’s near, I feel as though he knows me too. He anticipates me, he does things for me without me having to say a word. Are we just really alike, or is there something more in our connection? Is he interested in me because of that, or is he interested in something he shouldn’t really have. And now that he’s had me, will he simply fade out of my life and treat me like those girls at the clubs who want him, again and again and again, but none of them seem to stick… What if he’s really my soul mate? What if I was wrong about my connection with Josh, and what if Dylan is my other half? But then, what if I take that risk with Dylan – what if I give up everything I have with Josh on the off chance Dylan is my soul mate, and the passion we shared today will be something that lasts a life time?

But, what if I don’t risk it? What if I stay with Josh and live a nice, comfortable life as a doctor’s wife? Could I be happy never knowing if that passion could still be there? Would I always wonder about Dylan every time I lay with Josh?

The water turns cold, and I shut it off, wrapping my towel around my body then using another to dry my hair before I turn on the blow dryer and blast my head with enough heat and sound that my thoughts begin to melt away. Thinking about it all isn’t going to fix this. Nothing is going to fix this. No matter what happens now, I’ve made a mess of something. A mess that won’t be washed away by a simple shower, or an acknowledgement of the truth.

Running the hairbrush through the length of my warm and shiny hair, I tighten the towel around my body and head into my room to get dressed, my head still clouded and hazy. Maybe I should just go to sleep and wake up when this is all over…

I open my drawers and pull out a pair of panties. Then I drop my towel in readiness to put them on, and I’m startled when warm arms slide around my naked waist. My breath catches.

“Feeling better?” Josh murmurs against my ear, inhaling my freshly washed scent as he nuzzles me against my neck. A wave of sadness and guilt washes over me, and I close my eyes to keep from crying.

“Much. You’re home early,” I say in a quiet voice, not trusting the strength in my tone with any volume.

“I took off early. I felt bad leaving you here with a hangover. I should have been taking care of you.”

I turn in his arms, and wrap myself around him, hugging him tightly, breathing him in, trying to ground myself in my reality. In my reality that involves my relationship with Josh. And it’s a good relationship. He is a good man.

He hugs me back, then pulls away a touch and looks into my eyes. “Are you OK?” he asks, concerned.

I nod. “I just love you is all,” I reply with a smile.

He grins. “That’s good, because you’re naked and it’s kind of doing something to me, and I’ve missed you, babe. I’ve really missed you.”

He leans in and kisses me, his hands gliding over my skin and down to my ass as he pulls me against him, and I feel his erection through his pants. He pulls his shirt over his head then quickly removes the rest of his clothing. Then he makes love to me. And I let him, hoping it will make the ache in my chest ease somehow. Hoping it will somehow help me make up my mind and know my own heart. But, it only confuses me more, and when he falls asleep with his arms wrapped around me, whispering that he loves me, I feel like the most despicable person on the planet. Because I am. I’m in love with two men. I don’t know what to do.