Page 274 of Falling Backwards
Love is radiant in her expression.
Softly, she says, “This time is much better.”
I know I’m mirroring that look on her face.Can’t help it.Wouldn’t if I could.
“Yes,” I agree.
I also can’t help planting a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“Yes, it is.”
M A G G I E
I gave it my best try,I reason with myself for the umpteenth time as the difference between my friends’ conduct and mine makes it feel like there’s more than just a table separating us.Which thereis, I guess.The drinks they’ve had that I haven’t.The ease with which their moods have soared over the last two and a half hours while mine has stayed anchored.
And it’struethat I tried.I was looking forward to coming to Merritt’s as much as they were—perhaps more, what with wanting to enjoy my freedom to get back to doing the things I used to do now that Kyle is out of the picture.I was excited to hang out with Luke at the bar instead of being annoyed he was there like in the past.I couldn’t wait to be in a fun cluster with him and the girls and Paxton, looking good and feeling better, riding the extra high of sparkling holiday energy.
But things haven’t gone like that.
I don’t even know exactly how long I’ve spent wishing Luke and I weren’t here.
Maybe it started when we finished our first drinks and I felt strangely unsure about ordering another, only for him to suggest moments later that we share a snack.Maybe it was when we found ourselves talking to each other about different things, including it kind of being funny to think back on how we used to act together in here, while our friends had their own conversations.Or maybe it sparked off at the get-go, as soon as I laid eyes on Luke after I got here, and was spurred on and on and on by every other moment that came after.
Doesn’t really matter when it started.It only matters that I’ve felt like I’m slowly being crushed under the weight of how badly I want him and him alone.
Not a pre-Christmas night at the bar with my sweet, stunning, silly best friends and everyone else packed into this room.
Not a variety of alcoholic drinks, no matter how tasty I know they are or how good they sound—a testament to this being the Sugar Plum Fairy cocktail that’s been sitting half-full in front of me for the last thirty minutes because I’ve lost interest in it.
I just.Want.Luke.
Luke, who has also lost interest in the spiked holiday punch he ordered.
Luke, whose fingertips have been surreptitiously playing just beneath the hem of my dress, awakening millions of little fireworks through my tights, while he listens with absent politeness to Paxton rambling about his brother breaking the gaming headset he borrowed.
Luke, who dismantles my self-control a little more every time he looks at me because if the scorch of his own desire isn’t in his eyes, then there’s the burn of love or the glow of amusement or the flicker of the same weariness I feel every time the inebriation in this place shows off anew.
And having him is, bit by bit, becoming all I can think about.
I work on keeping my breaths as steady as possible.I touch his thigh, too, but look past him and away from our table.Emma has been gone to the restroom for a few minutes; I’m sure she’s waiting in some kind of line in there.Joy is at the bar in her glitter-laden silver dress, talking to a guy who has flirted with her a few times throughout the evening.
Then sudden movement and a change in subject from Paxton catch my attention.He’s sliding around through the empty side of the booth; he’s going to the restroom too.
The moment we’re alone, Luke and I flex our hold on each other’s thigh at almost the same time.And just like that, he’s dominating my thoughts once again.
I turn to him and stretch to stamp my lips to his cheek.He gives the kiss back in an instant; the hand he doesn’t have on my thigh finds my waist and gives the slightest tug, like he’s both trying to bring me closer and trying not to.
I know which one I want him to do.I just don’t want him to do it here.
How do I say it?DoI say it?Or should I ask what he wants despite how sure I am that it’s whatIwant?
Upon settling back from him, I meet his eyes.His regard me with poorly masked intensity.
It tries to tempt me into the real kiss I want like hell.
I resist, but I still need some other kind of closeness, so I lean my head against his shoulder.Let it rest there while I absorb the resumed skimming of his now-trembling fingertips beneath my dress, the strength of his hand on my waist where that strip of my dress is sheer, the press of his face to my hair, the slow way he inhales.
Even though I can’t see that look in his eyes anymore, I can feel what drives it.
