Page 127 of Loving the Legend
“Okay…it’s been weeks since we’ve had sex, though, and I miss us…I don’t know. It's like I’m being punished.”
He exhales. “You’re not.” He unbuttons, then re-buttons his tuxedo jacket.
“Then what is it?”
“Why does it have to be anything? We’ve both been busy.”
“Whenever I initiate, you say you’re not in the mood or make up an excuse. Don’t make me seem crazy.” Yesterday, I woke him up in his favorite way. One minute, he’s into it, opening his legs for me as he lengthened in my mouth, and then the next minute, he’s tapping me to stop. A pained expression crossed his face when I pulled off of him. He climbed wordlessly out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. When he came out, he mumbled something about hitting the gym and left.
“Are you no longer attracted to me?”
His head flinches back. “What? Where’d that come from? This has nothing to do with whether I’m attracted to you or not.”
“Answer the question. Why won’t you touch me? If it’s not me, then what is it? Someone else?”
That earns me an icy glare. He scoffs, then brushes past me toward the door.
I dart in front of him. “What am I supposed to think?”
“Not that bullshit.” He glowers. “Maybe, think about—hmph, no. I can’t do this right now.”
He doubles back toward the nightstand and grabs his wallet.
I tell myself to let it go, but I can’t.
“Wait—what were you going to say? Maybe I should think about what?”
“Nothing, forget I said anything.” He scans the room looking for something.
“That’s bullshit, Sid. Be straight with me.”
“Straight. Funny. That’s rich coming from you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
When he pats his pants pocket, I realize he’s searching for his phone.
“Your phone is downstairs on the foyer table.”
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
Before he steps toward the door, I dart in front of him again. “Answer me. What did you mean by that?”
He sighs, gazing past me. He shoves his hands in his pockets as if to keep from touching me or me from touching him. “You really want to do this right now?”
I nod. “Talk to me.”
I try not to squirm under the severity of his gaze or silence. I’m ready to rip out of my skin when he says, “I know you’ve been lying to me.”
“W-what?”
I try to mask the guilt on my face as all of the ways I’ve tried to contain my shit over the last few weeks run through my mind. I may have withheld some of what I’ve been going through, but it’s only because I didn’t want him to worry like he did in Spain. Plus, my issues are mine.
“That’s your play—denial?…Cool.” He tries brushing past me again.
I dart in front of him. “Wait…can we just sit and talk for a minute?”
“What’s the point if you won’t be straight with me?”
