Page 56 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

Now I’m confused. “So what are you saying?”

“That even though I don’t understand why yet, I respect your wishes. You’ve said you don’t want marriage or a family, but you’re clearly open to some kind of relationship because of what you had with Charlemagne.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Whatever. Are you intending to stay single for the rest of your life? Never to have sex again?”

I purse my lips. “No.”

“So as long everyone’s clear what’s on offer, where’s the problem?”

I turn a little so I can look up at him. “Are you saying… I dunno, what are you saying? You want to be friends with benefits?”

“No.”

I frown. “Then…”

“Friends with benefits implies something temporary. If you’re only prepared to offer sex to start with, that’s fine. But I told you that I want to date you, then take you to bed, and continue taking you to bed for the rest of my days, and that hasn’t changed. I want to be with you.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out again. My heart is banging on my ribs.

He looks amused at my expression. “What’s the matter?”

“You can’t go into a relationship hoping to change someone, Joel. It doesn’t work like that. You’re only going to end up disappointed.”

“I don’t want to change you. You’re perfect the way you are. Don’t glare at me, I’m not mocking you. I mean it. If you never want marriage and kids, that’s your prerogative, and no man should try to change that. I’d like to know why, and one day I hope you’ll tell me. When you do, if you still feel the same way, that’s okay. It’s you I want, first and foremost.”

I feel suddenly tearful. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why?”

“Because most people either want kids or they don’t. And I know you do.”

“Not at the expense of having you.” He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

A tear rolls down my cheek. “Don’t be nice to me. I’m not used to it.”

“I’m always nice to you.”

“No, you’re not, you drive me mad, and you mock me, and you tease me, that’s what we do, and if you start being nice to me I’m going to have no defenses against you at all, and then what am I going to do?” More tears tumble down my cheeks, and my bottom lip trembles.

“You could kiss me,” he says softly.

I press my fingers to my lips then and start crying for real.

“Aw,” he says, and he pulls me into his arms and wraps them around me.

I cry for a while, big snotty sobs that soak his hoodie, but he just kisses my hair and rubs my back and says things like, “Don’t worry,” and, “It’ll be okay,” and, “Shhh, I’m here.”

After a while, the tears die down, and the tension finally leaves my body. He shifts on the sofa, making himself comfortable, sliding down the cushions and lifting his legs up so he’s stretched out. Now I’m tucked against the back, half lying on him, and I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder.

The movie is still playing, and we watch it for a while, not saying anything. He strokes my back and shoulders, running his fingers lightly over my clothes. I rest my coffee on his chest and sip it occasionally until it’s all gone, and then he puts our mugs on the table, shuffles down the sofa a little more, and turns on the sofa so he’s facing me.

“Joel…” I whisper.

He shakes his head. Then he tucks a finger under my chin, lifts it, and presses his lips to mine.

It’s not a passionate kiss. There are no tongues, no fireworks, and no volcanic heat. It’s a comforting kiss, from one friend to another, slow and leisurely, and when he eventually lifts his head, I’m not surprised to discover that the rain has stopped, and the sun has come out.

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