Page 43 of Revive

“What?” He shrugs. “I like it when you sing for me.”

Turning my head, I look out the window, hiding my flushed face. “You know I’m not actually singingforyou, right?”

“For my sake, let’s pretend, okay?”

Reaching for my phone, I connect it to the car stereo and look for a song. “And, you don’t care what I pick?”

“Nope,” he says, letting the end of the word pop. “Sometimes surprises are good.”

Shawn Mendes’s voice surrounds us both, singing about being nervous, self-conscious and little too excited. Alternating between humming and singing, I lose myself in the song, lip syncing along to the lyrics. Feeling more relaxed and a little less tongue tied as each moment passes, I watch the streets pass me by waiting to see which one of us breaks the ice first.

I catch him glancing at me from the corner or his eye, as the song comes to an end. Instead of the intermittent silence I’m expecting, Shawn’s voice starts up again.

I look at him wanting an explanation, but he ignores my questioning, giving me instructions instead. “Sing it again for me, Crazy.”

* * *

After listeningto the song no less than fifteen times, we arrive in front of my house. The music stops, and my stomach churns with anxiety.

On the surface, he and I know how to be. We can smile and flirt, exchange touches and share glances, but now it’s only us; bare, and exposed, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear his truth.

Rummaging through my purse, I pull out my house keys and take hold of the door handle. “I don’t really know where to go from here,” I confess.

“I hate that I made you nervous around me.” I don’t rush to ease his conscience choosing to see where he takes the conversation instead. “I envisioned such a different outcome for tonight when I called you, and now I just feel like shit for fucking it up.”

“It’s okay to change your mind and decide you made a mistake by asking me out.”

“God, Crazy, you’re not a fucking mistake.” A pained expression flashes across his face and I don’t know if I’ve hurt him, or he’s hurt for me. “Tonight just caught me off guard.”

“Drix, I’m just as understanding as the next person, but I don’t want you to feel like you owe me.” Doubtful, I push him, giving him the out he needs, even if I so desperately don’t want him to take the bait. “You obviously have stuff going on, and I’d rather call it a day, than have you convince yourself to enjoy my company.” I place my hand on his knee in comfort. “We can live the rest of our lives bumping into one another at Jagger and Emerson’s place, it’s no big deal.”

“And what? Wonder what it would’ve been like every time I look at you?”

“Maybe that’s just how it’s meant to be between you and me.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “It doesn’t feel right to end it before we’ve even given it a try.”

“Drix, we barely know each other.”

He turns his head, his eyes studying mine while he asks me what seems to be a random question. “Do you know how many women I’ve given my number to?”

“No,” I answer. “I also don’t really know what that has to do with anything.”

“The answer is none.” He pushes strands of my hair behind my ears, like he needs to take a better look at me. “I’m a fuck and run type of guy. It doesn’t paint me in the best light, but it’s the truth. I’m the one that will take the number if I want it, and call if I need it.” Surprised, my face pulls back ever so slightly, but enough for him to notice. His fingers move from behind my ears, down the side of my face, until he’s holding my chin. My attention is all on him. “And while ripping that dress off you has been high on my list of things to do since I first laid eyes on you tonight. I think you should know.” He pauses, dramatically, leaning over until his lips hover over mine. The air between us becomes thick and tight, the idea of kissing becomes a deep rooted need that sends tingles through my body in anticipation. “Crazy,” he rasps, bringing me back to the moment. “This is the first time I don’t want to fuck and run.”

His admission opens the floodgates, restraint and sensibility disappearing, only to be replaced by the reality of his confession. What it means for me, what it means for him, and what it means for us right now.

Lips find mine, and for a split second time stands still for the two people who shouldn’t make sense. Unmoving, we hold onto one another, hands on either side of our faces. We start a slow, yet passionate exploration, tongues that meet in greeting.Hello. I’m here. I want you.

Gentle turns to needy, and suddenly I’m drowning in the simplest form of pleasures. His tongue strokes the inside of my mouth, leaving marks on my memory, and impressions on my heart. I return everything he gives me with a fervour I didn’t know I possessed, submitting to our complicated honesty, imperfect truths, and everything that makes this moment real.

Reluctantly we pull apart, and he leans his forehead into mine.

“Do you want to come inside?” I ask breathlessly.

He drops one last chaste kiss before opening the door, and hopping out. Wordlessly he accepts my invitation.

13

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