Page 62 of On the Edge

“You good?” I ask, confident now that he won’t bullshit me after our earlier conversation.

“Yes,” he answers immediately, without pausing to think for once. Tightening his grip, he brings me in again for another kiss, this one soft and barely more than a brush of lips. I should pull away. I shouldn’t let this evening spin further out of control. But I’m so fucking tired of fighting this, and he’s right here, and he wants me.You can have this one thing, I think to myself.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I tell him, fisting my hands in the sheet to keep from reaching for my dick. I have never needed to come so badly as I do right now.

“Okay. But then you shall come back here, yes?” He pats the bed, eyes wide and beseeching.Say no, Atlas. You don’t spend the night with other people,I remind myself.

“Sure,” I agree, like the fool I apparently am. He smiles and watches as I slide off the bed. If he knows I’m going into the bathroom to jack off and not take a piss, he doesn’t let on.

I take care of myself in seconds, probably breaking land-speed records with how fast I come the moment I put a handon my dick. Washing my hands, I splash a little water on my face as well, trying to cool myself off.

We switch off once I leave the bathroom, Henri brushing a hand across mine and smiling as he passes. I try to return it, but don’t manage more than a half-hearted grimace. My emotions are teetering unsteadily between happiness and doom, and the ongoing battle is exhausting.

Sitting back on the bed, I scrub my hands over my face. This isn’t a friends-who-fool-around situation any longer—it’s a relationship. I tried so hard to avoid one, I’d somehow missed all the signs and ended up in one by mistake. I’m unsure exactly how it happened, but I like Henri Vasel. I fuckinglikehim. I like his cute, floppy hair, and his adorable accent. I like the way he talks like an actor in a period drama, and how selfless he is. Most of all, I like the way he likes me back: genuine and unconditionally. Despite all my efforts to push him away, here he is. I can’t even pretend I’m not happy about it.

But I am worried.

I’m worried about when he inevitably decides this is too much work; when he finds someone worthy of him. Because that is the crux of the matter—I’m just not good enough for someone like Henri Vasel. He deserves better than the scraps of affection I’m able to pluck out of my loveless heart. I have never been—nor will I ever be—someone’s first choice. He’s going to break my fucking heart, and because I knew better, it’ll be nobody’s fault but my own.

He walks back into the room and I jolt, shaking my head and trying to bring myself back. Right now is not the time for an existential crisis about my inability to love or accept love in return. Not when Henri is looking at me like that: blue eyes soft and warm, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of hismouth as he crawls in beside me and kisses my bare shoulder. Again, my entire body thrums with pleasure. I’m a tuning fork vibrating at his frequency.

“Hello, Bärchen,” he says, and my stomach swoops dangerously.

“Hey,” I whisper back.

“I am thinking you should stay here this night,” he tells me. “It is too late, and too cold to be going back outside, yes?”

Snorting, I slide down in the bed until I’m lying flat and pull the sheets up around me. Watching me burrow in, Henri’s eyes light up and he does the same—tucking himself in and reaching over to fit the sheet more firmly around me. Again, my stomach performs an acrobatic maneuver. I want to tell him not to do things like that—not to treat me so tenderly—while at the same time being desperate for it to continue.

We end up on our sides, facing each other with as much distance between us as the small bed will allow. The lamp is still on behind Henri, sending shadows slashing across his angular face. Not even the dramatic lighting could disguise how happy he looks, though, eyes bright and face crinkled as he smiles helplessly at me. Relaxing down into his pillow, I smile back, but can’t seem to hold on to it. I feel impossibly sad, all of a sudden. Dragged under by the weight of inevitable heartbreak.

“We’re going to hurt each other, Henri,” I tell him quietly. “This isn’t going to work.”

He ponders that for a moment, fingers gently tracing the line of my collarbone. “You might be right, but you might also be wrong, yes? Sometimes, things work out.”

“Not for me.”

Another pause, this one going on so long that I doubt he’sgoing to reply at all. He’s still touching me, almost mimicking the way I did earlier to him. Reaching out, I thread my fingers into his thick, wavy hair and slide my hand along his scalp. His hair, where it falls over his forehead, has a curl to it. I play with the strands for a second, enjoying the way the curl holds its shape, before sliding my fingers back along his scalp. Soft and lemon-scented—two things I will now always associate with Henri.

He sighs, eyelids fluttering closed as I knead gently at his scalp. I keep at it, enjoying the way he just melted into the mattress at the touch. If he were a cat, he’d be arching his back and purring.

“You are happy now?” he asks quietly.

I should lie to him. Crack a joke. I’m only setting myself up for pain if I tell the truth now.I pause.

“Yes,” I whisper back. His eyes open. I circle my thumb in the soft hair behind his ear.

“Perhaps it is your turn to be happy, after so many years of sad.”

“I wasn’t sad,” I argue, but the words are flat and hold no weight. It’s exhausting, keeping my elbows locked and feet planted; everyone held at arm’s length. I almost laugh as Luke’s words from months ago float unbidden to the forefront of my mind:I didn’t go looking for a relationship, but one found me anyway.Apparently, Luke owes me an “I told you so.”

“Maybe a little bit sad,” Henri teases, scooting a little closer and leaning his head into my touch. I knead a little harder, rubbing at his scalp and eliciting a small groan. “But now you are happy, because you have me.”

“Jesus—kiss one man and suddenly you’re full of yourself, huh?” He laughs, his face close enough to mine that hisbreath puffs across my cheeks. “I’m serious, Henri. This won’t last. You’re too good for me.”

“I wish you would not talk this way.”

“What, tell the truth?”

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