Page 42 of Resurrection

“Starving.” She doesn’t head toward the restaurant, and she doesn’t make eye contact.

Is she cataloging the ways we used to find satisfaction in each other? The longer I spend with her, the more my willpower slips. The more I convince myself I could take the next few days, weeks, or months fucking her and still walk away.

I did it once. Seventeen years ago, my world began and ended with her. Leaving her a second time can’t be any harder. “Let’s eat.” I rest my palm on the small of her back, guiding her toward the restaurant.

Her deep breath is audible before she moves forward. Through her thin shirt, my hand is seared by the contact. I fight the urge to sweep her into my arms, carry her to my room, and have an entirely different meal.

Sleeping with her would ease the aching in my pants and in my chest. Sex would make my worry for her justified, more immediate instead of a residual thing from days past. We don’t know each other anymore. These emotions are a reflex, instinct, a lack of closure. My thirst for her is endless. That’s all. A relationship would never work. We’re not meant to be more than this naked desire.

We’re shown to a secluded table, and I slide in across from Carys. I’m aware of our reality. I’m the guy she fucks in an alley when she thinks nobody is watching. The guy she gets drunk enough to screw and regret. I’m not her final destination. I’m her pit stop.

The waiter flips open the menus and passes one to us both. Over the top, I watch Carys tuck a tendril of her hair behind her ear. She peeks up and our gazes connect, the moment pulses with recognition.

Everything I’ve thought is true, and the energy between us, is unmistakable. Tonight I’ll be the one who slips inside her in a Russian hotel room, who brings her to climax over and over, knowing I might be who she wants, but I’ll never be who she needs.

Chapter Sixteen

Carys

Finn orders a burger and a beer. I get a salad and mineral water. I’m tempted to feign a trip to the bathroom to have my drink changed to vodka and soda. He’d never suspect unless he got close enough to smell my breath. A personalized breathalyzer is entirely possible. Since the lobby, he’s been looking at me like he could devour me instead of the burger.

“Well.” I place my phone on the table. “You wanted me sober. What were you hoping to discuss?”

Finn smirks. “I didn’t need you sober for the conversation portion of the evening.” He turns his hand as though he’s flipping an imaginary object over. “Only for what comes next.”

His eyes are ice chips as they sweep over me. Ice isn’t what’s running through my veins. Heat. So much heat I want to fan myself. Instead I squeeze my thighs together and pray for the server to have understood mineral water meant vodka.

Clearing my throat, I’m grateful when the waiter puts our drinks in front of us. “I should have asked before. Thoughtless of me, really. Is there anyone in Boston you need me to contact to let them know you’re okay?”

“You mean besides my backstabbing fucker of a brother? No.” He raises his beer and takes a long pull. “Not a fan of attachments.”

“Right. Yeah. I guess that’s always been the case.”

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Not always.” He skims the restaurant before focusing his intense gaze on me again. “What about you? Seventeen years ago you were marriage, kids, white picket fence.”

I was so naïve. That’s what I want to say. How often does anyone’s life turn out how they expect? First, my heart couldn’t quite master marriage, and then my body wouldn’t let me carry a child. He doesn’t need to be told those things, though. Why would he care? “Marriage. Kids. Both liabilities. Loving anyone more than you love yourself makes you weak.”

He chuckles and sits forward, scanning the room in an exaggerated fashion. “Where’s Carys? Who the fuck are you?”

I shake my head. “I’m serious.”

“No, you’re not. That’s a bullshit line people like you use to cover up their oh-so-tender heart.”

“Well, if you’re so smart, you tell me why I didn’t end up married with kids.”

Our food arrives, and I twirl my fork in my hand before stabbing my lettuce. His perceptiveness is annoying, even if it’s probably what’s kept him alive all these years.

“You got shitty taste in men.”

“Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?” I stuff a forkful of lettuce into my mouth.

He laughs and picks up his burger. “All right then. Tell me the real reason.”

I slow my angry chewing and try to give off a carefree air. “It didn’t work out. I don’t know.”

“You used to light up whenever you talked about the future.” He watches me as he takes a bite.

A sad smile plays at the corners of my lips. “I must have scared the shit out of you.”

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