Page 28 of Puck Me

“Well, at least you have him eating. You’re nuts, though, both of you. You’re going to crash big time after this.”

“I’ve already taken the day off work tomorrow. And Chester only has physical therapy in the afternoon. We can sleep through the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nuts, like I said. I’ll leave you two to it.”

Noah leaves again, apparently satisfied that I’m in good hands. Or good arms. Storm’s arms do feel very good around me. I feel like I could stay like this forever, and maybe, just maybe, Storm could protect me from the black hole inside me.

We’re both exhausted by the time we finish, and I’m definitely ready for bed. “Why don’t you sleep here? You look about as wiped as I feel.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that. Do you have a guest bedroom.”

“Down the hall.” I can’t quite hide my disappointment. I liked having Storm in bed with me and I’d been hoping that he’d share the bed with me.

He seems to interpret my expression correctly. “It’s not that I don’t want to be close to you, Chester. I’m just worried about losing control around you. In case I haven’t been clear, I’m attracted to you, and the whole night pressed up against you may just be more than I can handle.”

“What if I want you to lose control?” It’s been ages since I’ve had sex, ages since my body has even taken interest, but it’s certainly taking interest now.

“Not today,” Storm says firmly. “You’re exhausted, hungover and emotionally fragile. I definitely want to sleep with you, but I’m not going to do it when you’re not in a good headspace.”

“You should trust me to know my own emotions,” I huff. “This is what I want. I’ve wanted it for a while now. Or did you forget how I went to my knees in your office and tried to suck you off?”

“Oh, believe me, it would be difficult to forget that. I do trust you, Chester, but you’re not the only one who has to be comfortable. If we’re going to have sex, we both need to be comfortable, and I’m not happy doing it when you’re not in a good state. Even if you are—and I trust you to tell me if you’re not—I need to take my own feelings into account.”

I suppose that’s fair. “I’ll show you to the guest room, then.”

My head is pounding as I get up, but at least I can keep my feet under me. I should have the world’s biggest hangover after my huge alcoholic binge, but Storm made me drink about a gallon of water during the marathon, insistent that it would help with the hangover.

He had to help me to the bathroom several times, a mortifying experience. I mean, Noah has done it before, but this isStorm. I don’t want to sleep with Noah. I have no reason to want to appear sexy to him. Storm is another story, but he doesn’t seem put off by having to help me.

I have to admit, he has a point about the water. I’ve had hangovers much worse than this after drinking much less than I did this time.

I show Storm to the guest room and finally find my own bed. I fall into it, and I’m asleep almost instantly. For once, thoughts of my leg and the life I have lost are far from my mind.

I want to pace, but the last thing I need is to use up the last of my energy before Storm even gets here. I need this date to go well. I want to show him that dating me isn’t going to be awful. I desperately want him to stay and not abandon me again.

So, I sit on the couch, worrying and fiddling with my hair.

The doorbell rings at exactly seven o’clock, just as we arranged.

As promised, Storm is there with roses. They are a rich deep red and very beautiful. I try to think back and I don’t think anyone has bought me roses before. Storm is a romantic. He also has chocolates.

I blush as I take them. “Thanks. Let me just go put these in a vase.”

I have a vase of water waiting and plop the roses in before sneakily trying one of the chocolates.

“I saw that, Chester! Don’t you go and ruin your appetite for dinner. Nona’s Kitchen has the best carbonara in the city and you’d be a fool not to come hungry.”

I do love carbonara, so I regretfully put the box of chocolates down and go to Storm. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for a long time now. Let’s do this.”

Storm strokes a hand down my arm, unable to take my hand, given that I’m operating my crutches. I maneuver myself into the car, tossing the crutches into the back.

“How was physical therapy today?”

I shrug. “It’s been better, but it’s also been worse. Xavier insists I’m making progress, but I don’t see that it really matters.”

“What are you talking about? Of course it matters!”

---