I fall back into the bed and let out a deep breath. “Because I thought you were gone,” I reply sincerely.
Michael’s expression changes to guilt. He places the mug on a small table and climbs into bed beside me.
“Hey, hey,” he says, brushing the tips of his fingers against my cheek. “I’m not that asshole anymore. And I would never do that to you, Christine.”
I stare into the green depths of his eyes. I want so badly to believe him, but I feel like a part of me is always going to doubt everything. Even now, after we’ve slept together, I still don’t know his true intentions. Hell, I’m not even sure what mine are.
Last night happened in the heat of passion. Before we were able to have our conversation. It feels like the universe is playing against us, doing everything it can to prevent us from having a heart-to-heart that just might heal our relationship.
“Where’s my coffee?” I ask, feeling a little embarrassed for freaking out.
He smiles. “I can brew you a cup if you want,” he states.
He’s about to slide out of bed when I stop him in place. “No. We need to talk,” I tell him.
Michael turns back to look at me. “Those words have never been followed by anything good.”
There’s a smirk on his face, however. He seems at ease, peaceful, like there’s nothing that could possibly bring him down from his high. I wish that were true.
“I know what I said last night, but after that little scare, I’m worried about Noah. I really don’t want him to be caught in the middle of all this,” I state.
Michael leans against the headboard and crosses his arm. His smile doesn’t dim.
“And what is all this?” he questions.
“Michael, we slept together,” I say.
“I remember. Every… little… detail,” he enunciates, staring down at my body that’s presently covered by the sheets.
I feel myself blush. “And you don’t think that connotes a shift in our relationship?”
He nods. “Of course I do.”
The words aren’t followed by any explanation, and I groan. “Why is it so hard to talk to you?”
Michael places his hand on mine and turns me to look at him. “You can tell me anything, Christine. It doesn’t have to be hard to speak to me at all. I will always listen to you.”
I think I’m falling in love with you.
For some reason, those words refuse to come out. All my life, whenever it came to love, I’ve repeatedly been burned or hurt. I had all but given up on it, and opening myself up to someone who might actually hold the cards to my heart is terrifying. Even admitting it to myself is terrifying. I’m scared, and so is he, it seems. Because I don’t hear him confessing his undying love for me, either.
We really are bad at communicating.
“Michael—” I start, but he shakes his head.
“Wait. Before we talk, I just want to do this,” he states, and his lips press against mine.
This one is different compared to the kisses of desperation from yesterday. It’s sweet, soft, and leaves me squirming under him. Then I realize he’s probably kissing me to avoid talking. I shove at his chest.
He blinks as he leans away and stares at me. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I ask on a laugh. “What’s wrong is that you can’t just kiss me like that when I’m trying to figure out what’s going on. I mean, what am I to you, Michael? A fuck buddy? A one-night stand? Baby mama with benefits?”
He glares at me. “You’re so much more than that and you know it.”
“No. I don’t. Because you won’t talk to me. You can’t just assume people know what you’re thinking when you refuse to talk to them.”
He sighs. “I’m going to talk to you. Is it so bad that I want to enjoy one quiet morning before we hammer out the details?”