Page 60 of Fall for Me

Seamus stopped, stilling his hips. He bent his head to my shoulder. His taut muscles were hard as steel under my hands. Straining. His back rose up and down, and I could tell he was trying to control his breathing. Then he grasped my hips and lowered me to my feet.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was so thick and rough it barely sounded like him.

Once I was on the floor, he pressed his hands against the wall behind me as if he didn’t trust them anywhere else.

I shook my head. “Don’t say that.”

His face was lowered so I couldn’t see it, but I brought my hands to his jaw. His stubble was prickly under my palms as I brought his face up. He pressed the top of his forehead to mine, above my bandage, and as he did, his hands came back to my hips; thumbs slipping just under my shirt, resting on my skin. He closed his eyes and kneaded his palms against the curve of my hips, as if memorizing them.

“Fuck,” he said, lowering his hands again and opening his eyes. I saw the remorse there, the pain. “I’m—”

But I leaned forward and kissed him again. I wanted to spare him the words. This time, our kiss was long and deep and tender, and when his hands snaked into my hair, his touch was so gentle. His presence—the kiss—was like some indescribably good and benevolent force wrapping itself around me.

But then his nose brushed against my cheek, against the bandage, and suddenly I grew self-conscious. The scar on my face burned.

Outside, Joyce laughed.

I looked down, then slipped out from under him, sliding with my back against the wall next to the door.

I wanted to go back to him, to lose myself to him. But I couldn’t think there.

“I wasn’t supposed to do this,” I said, unsure if I was talking to him or myself. “I don’t want to get tangled up in a guy, especially not…”

He grimaced.

I wanted so badly to go to him, to lift his hanging head, to kiss him and tell him how good he was. But I was so confused; and besides, Jude was right outside.

“You’re right,” Seamus said. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

“How about we just… pretend it didn’t, okay? This was my fault. I shouldn’t have said what I said.” That I wanted you.

“I can’t pretend that, Chelsea.” His eyes met mine, and I saw his gaze go over my bandage. I cringed at it.

I wasn’t prepared for the hurt that ran through me seeing him do that.

He regretted what had just happened because he thought I was fragile. Out of my mind. Vulnerable. That I’d slipped right back into my old patterns. “You weren’t just anyone,” I said. “In case you’re wondering.”

“Does it make a difference?”

I honestly didn’t know.

But I saw the quick flash of hurt in his eyes now. Maybe it didn’t make any difference. Maybe, no matter who it was, I acted recklessly to make up for the fact that I hid everything meaningful and important in a locked vault inside.

“Chelsea, I made a promise to Eli that I’d look out for you. But… I think we should just stay away from each other, okay?”

The words hit me like a blow. He was right. Of course he was. But it wasn’t what I wanted.

“Sure, Seamus,” I whispered. “I should go.”

“Wait,” he said, as I started to turn. He walked over to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a paper bag, the kind with no handle. He handed it to me. “Here.” It was big, the size of a coffee-table book, but lighter.

I shouldn’t take anything from him. It felt wrong. For a moment I just stared at it, my hands at my sides, trying to think of what to say to refuse it.

But he lifted my hand and curled my fingers over the bag. “Please. I’ll just throw it out if you don’t take it.”

So I did; I clutched it against my chest. “Goodbye, Seamus.” Then I slipped out the door, leaving Seamus Reilly behind me.

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