Page 48 of Fortuity (Transcend 3)
He catches his breath and nods once while resting his hands on his hips and dropping his gaze to his feet. “You’re right. I’m just … It felt …”
“Yes. And yes.” I blow out a long breath and grin. “I know. Trust me … I know.”
Nate threads his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Fucking condoms … I … I should have just told Morgan they were mine.”
I take a few seconds to commit this moment to memory. My female psyche has been weakened over time from a roller coaster of ups and downs—acceptance, love, hope, rejection, disdain, abandonment. As often as I tell myself that things like wrinkles, great hair, and perfectly toned muscles don’t define me, I’m often crippled by self-doubt. Just because I’ve lost hope … lost the desire to find lasting love, doesn’t mean I’m immune to the sheer elation of someone desperately wanting my touch … my kisses … my body. So I’m doing my best to pause time and feel this moment, to imprint the need and anguish he’s feeling because he can’t have me the way he needs me.
Tomorrow and a million tomorrows after that, Nate won’t need me, but now he does. It’s hard to explain how feeling needed means more than feeling loved. I realized this after Brandon died. It wasn’t just love; it was more. I needed him. Humans don’t function well when their needs are not met. I have not been okay. For nearly two decades, I have not been okay.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Nate pulls his hands out of his hair, letting them flop to his sides. “What can you possibly be thanking me for?”
Hugging my arms to my chest. I roll my lips together and shrug. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s big. It’s sincere. And I won’t ever forget it.”
He grunts the hint of a laugh before blowing out a slow breath. “I’m going home to take a cold shower.”
“Dinner was phenomenal, but the company was indescribable.”
The residual disappointment and anguish melts from his face. “Agreed.”
“Night, Nate.”
“Goodnight.” He turns and sulks out the door.
I lean my back against the wall, close my eyes, and smile. It feels … Well, I’m not sure what word to use. It’s just incredible to feel.
After slipping into my not-so-sexy tee and boy-shorts, I brush my teeth and wash my face. Then I contemplate reading a book or watching a show.
The book wins.
I look for my Kindle in my purse, but it’s not there. I check a few other places before opening my nightstand drawer.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” In my drawer is the box of condoms and a sticky note with Mr. Hans’s chicken scratches on it:
I think you’ll need these before I will. Dare I say have fun?
I’m not sure why he gave them to me instead of returning them to Nate, probably to mess with both of us.
It’s ten-thirty. I’m ready for bed. Makeup is off. And Nate’s probably had a cold shower or done other things to remedy his situation.
“Just go to sleep,” I tell myself.
Ugh … I never listen, and that’s what brings me to Nate’s door at a quarter to eleven. It’s dark. There’s no sign that he’s still awake. I should go. I turn, heading back to the stairs. Then I turn back around.
After doing this so much that I’m dizzy, I ring the doorbell.
I can’t. Go!
I run down the stairs with my bare feet and scantily clad body—total chicken. I hear his door creek open, and I freeze. It’s really dark. If I hold stone still, maybe he won’t see me and go back inside assuming it was some young kid playing a prank.
“At least leave a plate of cookies if you’re going to ring my doorbell and run, Elvis.”
“Shit …” I whisper, turning around slowly.
He walks down the stairs, bare chest, bare feet, and low-hanging jogging shorts.
“I was uh …” I hold up the box of condoms. “Just dropping this off. Mr. Hans put them in my nightstand drawer. I had no idea. I was looking for my Kindle, not condoms.”
He stops in front of me.
“So … here.” I shove them into his chest. “That’s all. Night.” When I let go, they drop to the ground.
He studies me like the condoms don’t exist. “How do you feel about late-night dips?”
I glance out at the water. “Not too good.”
“I agree. It’s a terrible idea. We should definitely do it.”
“Wha—Nate!”
He bends down, tosses me over his shoulder, and races to the water.
“No! Nate! This is a terrible id—” Cold water fills my ears in a whoosh as he submerges us.
“C-cold …” I say when he drags me to the surface with him. Nate warms me with his mouth on mine. I might drown, but it will be in this kiss, not the eternity of water embracing us.
