Page 106 of Faker
With shaky hands, I tilt his face to mine. “No one has ever made me feel that good. And ‘good’ isn’t even the right word, but I can’t think of a better one right now because you’ve screwed the living daylights out of me.” I peck him on the lips just as he chuckles.
Nuzzling into the pillow, I close my eyes. Tate’s arm snakes around me, pulling my head into the crook between his shoulder and chest. Each breath I take tingles, his musky, evergreen scent filling my lungs. There is no better smell in the world, I think to myself as I doze.
twenty-eight
It’s a brand-new day when I wake, tangled in the paper-hued sheets of Tate’s bed. I lie on my side; he spoons me from behind, his tree-trunk arm resting over my waist. I peel open my eyes. Morning sunlight peeks through the tilted blinds over the only window in his bedroom. It warms the light cotton sheet draped over us. Yet another stiflingly hot and humid Midwest day, but I welcome it. The morning’s soft heat makes me feel cradled and secure. We’re captured in an impenetrable bubble where nothing can reach us.
I roll over, still half-asleep, and let my eyes adjust to the brightness. Peering around the room, I soak in the light and the comfort. Tate stirs and moans, then pulls me closer to his chest. I smile and close my eyes again. I want to wake up like this every day.
Behind my eyelids, I imagine what we must look like. In my dreams, we are a simple image: a man and a woman floating in the middle of a bed, wrapped in cotton sheets so thin you can almost see through them. The entire room is bathed in neutral hues, but it’s not boring. It’s soothing.
He’s pale as milk; she’s tan as caramel. Her jet-black hair spills across the pillows like ink. The mess of ebony tangles with hissnowy white curls. Golden sunlight streams in from the window, dancing across every surface. The conflicting shades of dark and light come together under the warm glow of orange and yellow. It creates a balance. A harmony.
It’s similar to the glow I feel inside me. The longer I lie in bed, the clearer it becomes, the warmer I feel. I knew it was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for the jolt. For the all-consuming, chest-tightening surge that would overtake every fiber in my skin and bones. Hot blood pulses through my veins, carrying this new sensation to the farthest reaches of my body.
After one blink, one breath, and one pulse, it’s clear: I’m in love with Tate.
I don’t believe it at first. How can I love someone I’ve only just started to get to know? But I do know him. For eleven months, I’ve worked with him. I know his moods and his sounds. I can differentiate the sighs he makes. I know how he’s feeling depending on how deep and heavy his exhale is. I’ve committed to memory the number of lines that crowd his forehead whenever he frowns. I know his favorite lunch. I know the hurried way he drives, how hoodies and T-shirts are his favorite clothes to wear, the rhythm of his speech. He’s got a gold mine on me too. And now I know how he truly feels.
It’s a beautiful mess in my head, and I have to close my eyes to make sense of it all. Nearly a year’s worth of bickering, heated emotions—it’s all formed a unique foundation. That gut punch of negative feelings with every argument, every bout of silent treatment over the last several months was misdirected heat and affection. Like a haywire electrical current that caused damage until it was grounded. Now that it’s contained between us, I’m buzzing with love and joy.
Our imperfect past is filled with challenges, missteps, andcomplications, but look what it’s led to. The most passionate night of my life and the most eye-opening morning.
When I fix my gaze on his sleeping face, my body trembles with the realization. This new feeling expands. It’s faster than my thoughts or my heartbeat can keep up with. I hold my breath. Before I can inhale, he wakes.
“Good morning,” he says with a sleepy smile.
I nod with dramatic lemur eyes, unable to speak.
“What’s wrong?” His forehead resumes his trademark frown of concern. I bet I look terrified.
“Nothing. Just still processing everything.”
He holds me tighter. “Hopefully not regretting anything?”
I nuzzle my face to his chest. “Not at all,” I mumble into his skin.
“You’re still my girlfriend, right?”
“If you’re still my boyfriend.”
“Good. Because I like this. Waking up, holding you. I want this. For as long as possible.” He cradles my head in his palm. I push up to peer at him.
“As long as possible?” I ask like I’m clarifying a joke. If he can make a statement like that, I wonder if he could love me.
“At the very least.”
“You want to snuggle me in your bed forever?”
He laughs, probably at my stunned tone. “Yes. I swear.”
“I don’t share, you know. If you say that to me, you don’t get to do this with any other woman.”
Gently, he grabs my chin and pulls me into a soft kiss. “I don’t have any interest in anyone else. Not now, not ever.”
“Tate—”
“I mean it, Emmie. I’ve wanted this for so long.”
