Page 666 of Rock Me All Night
34
The door slamsinto the frame.
Pete takes a step backwards. He stares at me, his brow knit with confusion. That isn't anI love you tooexpression.
He looks like he's been side-swiped.
We stand there staring at each other. It feels like an hour passes. It can't be more than thirty seconds but it feels like an eternity.
My stomach drops. I'm glad I said it, I am, but it doesn't feel good, him staring at me like I slapped him.
When he speaks, his voice is low, unsteady. "I still don't know what that feels like."
"If you loved me, you would know. You would feel it. I feel it every time I look at you."
His eyes go to the floor. "Let's talk inside."
"I don't think I want to talk."
"Whatever you want."
"Are you going to love me one day?"
"Don't want to promise you something unless I'm sure."
There's acid in my throat. Cake, champagne, and rejection is another powerful combination. Only it sucks.
Sadness fills Pete's eyes. He wants to love me. It's almost sweet that he wants to love me but he can't.
I step inside. Not to talk. But to change, pack my things, go somewhere else.
The door slams shut. He tries to slide his arms around me but I break from his touch.
"We should cool things off for a while." I take a deep breath. This is awful but it's necessary if I want to survive the wave of feelings crashing over me. "I'll find some other place to stay. We can talk in a few weeks."
"No."
"What do you mean no?"
"No." He grabs my hand, pulls my body into his. "You're staying at the house. Even if it means I have to leave."
"You're getting kicked out in a few weeks anyway," I say.
"I can get around that."
"Pete… don't make this harder than it has to be."
He says nothing but he keeps my body against his. My breath hitches. I like his body. Even if I don't have his heart. It's tempting to ask him to throw me on the bed one last time.
To taste his sweet lips, to feel him driving deep inside me as our bodies connect, everything right in the universe.
A few minutes of bliss might be worth the emptiness I'll feel after.
I don't know what to say. I guess he doesn't either. Five minutes must pass. Ten.
Neither of us breaks the silence. No. It's the ringing of a phone. My phone. It's three A.M. in LA, almost four. But that means it's already morning in New York.
It rings all the way to voicemail.
