Finally, he’s saying the words I’ve been waiting so long to hear.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, either.” I say, my voice shaking in tune with my trembling insides.
“I want to show you something. That’s why I pulled you in here. It’s kinda your birthday present.”
I’m confused as he slowly lifts his shirt up, until my eyes land on his chest, right above his heart, where there’s a new tattoo of the scribbled heart drawing I made for him when I was a little girl, with the words ‘i love you the most’ beneath it. My breath catches as I stare at it.
“When did you get that?”
“A few weeks ago.”
He moves even closer and my heart tries to break free from my chest to jump into his as he leans in to whisper in my ear.
“Do you still mean it?”
“Yes. I always will.” I say breathlessly.
He leans back to look into my eyes as he pulls his shirt back down. “Good. Because it’s there forever now.”
“I’ll mean it forever. I promise.”
On impulse, I lean forward and touch my lips to his for a stolen kiss, and he inhales sharply in surprise.
“‘That’s what I want. So fuckin’ bad.” He whispers with a raspy voice as he leans his forehead against mine. “Kiss me again. Then I have to get out of here.”
His hands tighten around my waist in encouragement as he waits for me, and my insecurity kicks in, knowing he’s waiting for it, wanting it, and not pushing me away. I don’t want to disappoint him by kissing like an eighteen-year-old virgin.
Even though I am.
Reaching up, I grasp his wide shoulders and pull him closer, wrapping my legs around his waist before tilting my head up to meet his lips that still have a slight taste of my birthday cake. He lets me drive the kiss, not pressing further or taking control, which I wish he would do. I want him to pull me closer and kiss me deeper like he did the other times we kissed, but he’s not. He’s completely still, breathing against my mouth, waiting for me.
I open my eyes to find his dark and fiery, staring into mine. Our mouths linger against each other, while my heart is fluttering in my chest like a hummingbird. He’s all man between my legs and under my touch – wide, rock hard, and powerful. He smells of rain and woods and grease, and it’s provocative in this tiny space of detergent and bleach. I want to pull his shirt off and run my hands over his smooth muscles, kiss him in places I’ve only dreamed about.
His nose nudges against mine, his lips brushing across my cheek. “You can do whatever you want,” he whispers, as if he can feel all the things I’m thinking.
I want to do everything.
But there’s some kind of disconnect between my brain, my heart, my hands, and my lips. In my mind I pulled him closer, ran my hands under his shirt and over his chest and abs as my lips trailed down his neck, chasing after my hands, tasting him, kissing the words on his chest.
Instead I plant a quick kiss on his mouth and pull away, untangling my legs from around him as he lets out a deep sigh.
“Alright,” he says, his voice thick with…disappointment?
Yes. He’s disappointed. In me.
My heart and stomach sink together as I jump off the clothes dryer and he moves away from me.
“You get out of here first and then I’ll leave. I don’t want anyone to see us coming out of here together.”
“Okay,” I say awkwardly, reaching for the doorknob. “Thank you for playing the songs for me, Tor. It was amazing to finally see you and hear you play.”
He nods and runs his hand through his hair before meeting my eyes again. The fire is gone from them now, replaced with their usual shroud of melancholy.
“Happy birthday, Angel.”
I unlock the door and peer outside to make sure no one is in milling around in the hallway before I leave the room and go directly upstairs to my own, closing my door behind me before I burst into tears.
I let him down. He gave me a chance to show him how I feel and what I want, and I let my nerves and inexperience get in the way and destroyed the moment.
Once again, that bitch called reality is knocking on my door, here to remind me that regardless of how we feel, I’m still a teenager, and he’s still a grown man. No matter how close we might be sometimes, we are still worlds apart in so many ways.
22
Tor
Kenzi ~ age five
Tor ~ age twenty
After strapping the pink helmet onto her head, I hold the handlebars of the small bicycle I bought her for her birthday, waiting for her to get on.