Page 57 of Break Your Fall

With the way I was looking at her in that first new dress, I couldn’t believe she offered to keep wearing it for me. Forme. Reyna flirts. She’s flirted with me, but that was before the asterisk appeared next to our friendship, and I found myself wondering what her offer meant, what her look meant as her eyes trailed over my bare chest, reading into things as I’ve asked her not to do, feeling the hope I still can’t have, especially right now when I’m under the influence, my thoughts too muddled by beer.

But God, my favorite holiday looks so fucking good on her.

“You should wear that again,” I say, my eyes roaming the dress. “And again. And again.” I make a face at myself, sounding like a sleaze through this alcohol and again saying things I shouldn’t, so I shut my mouth, literally, my teeth clanging together with the motion.

A piece of cheese hits my shirt. Reyna rips another piece and I try to catch it as it hits against my abdomen. I fail, but I like the sound my hand makes against my ribs so I keep slapping at them, bringing in my other hand to join the fun.

“What are you doing?”

“My ribs make a nice sounding drum.”

She laughs and steps in front of me. “Let me do it.” Her hands jam out on my ribcage and my hands wrap around her wrists, my movement stopping hers as her eyes spring up to mine, her body closing the distance between us at the same time I pull her in.

I’m sober enough to know what I’m doing and drunk enough to push through my nerves to do it. I want her close. I need her close.

My eyes fall closed as I place one of her hands over my heart. Her fingers press, dig into my skin as if she’s trying to take my heart right out of my chest. She already holds my heart. It’s always belonged to her.

I keep my eyes closed for fear that if I open them, I’ll do something I’ll regret. Or worse, something she’ll regret. I know what I’d do sober, but not in this state. In this state, I let Reyna lead.

As her hands glide up my chest, my hands slide down from her wrists to her elbows and up, my fingers slipping under the back of her arms, caressing her skin as her fingers stall at my neck before sliding up into my hair. She pulls me in and rests my forehead against hers, our breaths shallow, our holds tightening, mine clinging to everything I have and everything I don’t.

My hands glide back down her arms and up to her wrists to feel that her heart is thumping as fast as mine.

It never hurt to love Reyna. She’s the best feeling I’ve ever had. But now, with her in my arms like this, as we’re touching this way, I feel the ache in my chest, a hole in part of my life where she should be. She should be with me. This should be real. This should be us.

I open my eyes against the pain and I see hers are closed as mine were. My hands move to her face, my thumb runs along her jaw as I lift her chin, her face even closer to mine now. Her lips part on an exhale that I feel against mine, but she’s stopped leading. Her eyes move behind her lids, clenching and unclenching like she can’t decide if she wants to open them. She swallows, her throat tight.

She’s here with me, but she can’t look at me.

She should’ve just ripped my heart out.

My hands fall away as I move away, and that’s when her eyes flutter open. Right before Banks lets out a loudmooas he bounces to the fridge, and our moment’s over.

“There’s a cow in here,” he announces next as he attempts to pour himself a glass of my milk. I cringe thinking about him drinking that on a beer-coated tongue.

Then I’m laughing, thankful he’s paying me no attention as he hurries back to the couch. Several beers in my system and Banks isn’t terrible. I’m going to have to be wasted to make it through thislittle while.

I cut myself off when I realize it’s Reyna who’s paying attention to my amusement, her brows raised.

I point toward the living room. “He’s not funny.”

“He’s a little funny,” she argues with a laugh of her own, then starts backing up. “I gotta pee.” She races off toward the bathroom, catching herself before she trips over her own feet, and I’m leaning my hands against the counter, holding myself up as I take deep breaths.

This was a bad idea,I think as my body charges to the fridge for another beer.

My hand wraps around the cap, hesitating for a moment as I squeeze the teeth against my palm before I shove the bottle back onto the shelf and close the fridge, my body and head falling back against the steel.

This was a bad idea.

My eyes are closed when I feel Reyna come up beside me, her hand touching my arm and giving it a squeeze. “Hey,” she says, her voice languid, low, and pulling for mine.

I open my eyes and turn my head, my stare locking with hers, the connection important, weighted with tensity. “Could you ever love me? The way I love you?”

Reyna’s eyes brim with tears, her hand wrapping around my arm, squeezing tighter as she says, “I do love you, Tommy.”

But not the way I love you.

I look away, nod at the floor. “Yeah,” I breathe as I push myself off the fridge, moving past her as I say, “I know.”

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