Page 43 of The Spark Between Us

She shook her head. “You’re wrong. She just wasn’t the right one. And I’m sure it felt awful, but she did you a favor. I know it hurt, but seriously, good riddance. She didn’t deserve you.” People had said that to me before, but hearing her say it felt different because I cared what she thought. And it triggered a movement—a shaking off of rust and stubborn atrophy—in a deep part of my heart that had been dead for a long time.

“It’s fine. I’m over it. It’s been two years,” I lied. Like I always did.

It felt like an iron cage was squeezing my chest. I didn’t want to lie to Sarah. But I’d already opened up more than I’d planned. Time to lock everything back down.

“Anyhow, that’s the deal and that’s why I know now that the perfect relationship doesn’t exist. But hey, we can fantasize, right?” That’s all it was—a fantasy.

Sarah nodded and flopped against the back of the couch. She looked defeated, leaning her arm against her forehead, or maybe that was just how I felt.

“So...now it’s your turn.” Desperate to shift the conversation away from my morose self, I got up and pantomimed a spotlight shifting to her. She put her hand up in mock blocking of the glare.

“You can ask, but no promises I’ll bare my soul,” she laughed.

“Oh, come on. I gave you complete honesty. I expect no less.”

“Fine.” She shrugged.

Rubbing my hands together like I was hatching an evil plan, I got another beer from the fridge. “Let’s see, where shall I begin?” When I saw the tray of brownies on the counter, I couldn’t resist. “I think this inquisition calls for some chocolate.”

She jumped from the couch. “No, no, you can’t eat them yet. They need frosting, but they’re still too hot.”

“I’m sure they taste great without frosting.” I pulled a knife from the block on the counter and bounced my eyebrows to see if she’d agree to my plan.

But she took the knife from my hand, and when she did, the brush of her fingers against mine was red hot fire. The barest graze sent a thrill of electricity along my skin.

Was it possible that she didn’t feel it too?

She gave no indication as she put the knife on the counter and looked at me like she was reprimanding a toddler. “Fifteen minutes. I promise you’ll like them better once they’re frosted. You can’t eat naked brownies.”

In my mind, she was telling me we should eat brownies naked, and I immediately pictured her lying on the floor with a brownie covering each breast, and I was fine with that.

I tried to shake that thought from my head by looking around the kitchen. “Am I crazy? I don’t see any frosting.”

“I have to make it. So ask me your questions and I’ll make the buttercream.”

I took a slug of my beer and leaned on the counter, studying her while she measured powdered sugar and put the remainder in the cupboard with my other sugar. “How’d you know where I keep the sugar?”

She looked at me like it was obvious. Maybe she’d already gone through all the cupboards and drawers and figured out where I kept stuff. “I went to where I’d put sugar, and it turned out that’s where you have yours. In the logical place.”

“Is that how you knew where to find the corkscrew?”

“Huh?”

“Earlier. You went to the right drawer the first time.”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“Okay, forget about that. Let’s talk about your ideal man. Spill.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and I started to think she might not answer. For all I knew, she was dating someone back in Berkeley, and he was her ideal man.

“Actually, you don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”

Quirking an eyebrow, she smiled. “Just like it was none of my business when I asked you? Come on, we’re roommates and we never see each other. This is a chance to get to know each other. I’m not passing that up.”

I shrugged, glad that she was game. “Okay, then. Tell me. If your perfect man walked through the door right now, what would he be like?”

She started unwrapping sticks of butter. “He can’t walk through the door right now. I need to focus on work. The perfect man doesn’t fit with that. But I guess someday I’d like to meet someone who makes me feel, you know? I spend most of my time thinking and analyzing and controlling.” She winked at me, and it was all I could do not to wrap her in my arms.

“Someone who could share that burden without making me feel like I’m a nut job for being the way I am, that would be magical. I’ve never experienced that kind of support—I always feel a little apologetic for being myself. Oh, and I want mind-boggling sex, like orgasms so intense the neighbors feel aftershocks. Like, earth-shattering, screaming, rollicking orgasms...not that I’ve even come close to experiencing that, but I have a feeling it’s out there. With the right guy. You know?”

Do I know? Not sure. Because I’m pretty sure I just died.

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