Page 102 of Fake As Puck
“I’m so, what?”
“So… ugh!” I jump off the bed because I need to move, otherwise, I’m going to explode.
He hops off the bed and stands, watching me pace for a moment, and then he grabs my hand. My heart rattles in my chest, demanding my eyes to spill more tears. I try my best to suck them back in.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Come here.” He pulls me to him and wraps his arms around my body. I breathe in his scent, and my brain goes slack. The tears dry, and all that matters is that I’m pressed against him. He kisses the top of my head.
After a minute, he pulls me to the bed and slips in behind me. He wraps his large arms around me and then claps to turn off the light.
I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous this is. I feel his chest shaking behind me. Now we’re both laughing, and the tension fades. I kiss his lips and then pull his arms tighter around me.
When I wake up, the bed is empty, and I can hear the shower running in the bathroom. I stretch and listen to the sound, and I smile before I’m fully awake.
The water shuts off, and I hear him moving around in the bathroom. A few minutes later, the door opens, and he steps out with a towel wrapped low around his hips, hair damp and skin still flushed from the heat.
My heart skips.
Then races.
Because he looks like something out of a dream, and I’m here, in his room. We hooked up last night. I cried in front of him. He cuddled me all night long, and I can’t quite believe this is real.
Our eyes meet across the room, and something passes between us. Recognition. Want. The memory of everything that happened yesterday.
I try to play it cool. “Morning,” I say.
“Morning.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.”
He’s looking at me like he’s trying to memorize my face, and there’s something in his expression that makes my chest tight.
Something that looks like he’s already missing me.
I can’t handle that look.
So I get up and cross the room to him, and when I’m close enough to touch him, I do.
My hands find his chest, still warm and damp from the shower, and I can feel his heart beating under my palms.
“Liv,” he says quietly, but there’s warning in his voice. “I can’t...”
I silence him with a kiss, pouring everything I can’t say into it.
“I’m leaving today,” I whisper against his lips. “Let me have this.”
For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Just stands there with his hands on my waist, breathing hard.
Then something breaks in his expression, and he kisses me back like he’s drowning.
We move to the bed without speaking, and this time it’s different from yesterday. Slower. More deliberate. Like we both know this might be the last time and we want to make it count.
I lead, setting the pace, and he lets me. Follows my rhythm, matches my intensity, gives me exactly what I need without me having to ask.
It’s intimate in a way that scares me. Deep and connected and nothing like the desperate urgency from before.
This feels like goodbye and begging all at once.
