“You sure you want to go to the wedding?”
Huh. That’s… not the question I expected. I stare into his eyes, trying to figure out his intentions.
He’s worried.
About me?
Or about how much he still loves her?
The thought makes me sick. There are so many ways this can go wrong. Him standing up during the ceremony and saying yes, I know a reason why you can’t wed. I’m still in love with you.
Her sneaking out of the engagement party for one last tryst.
Him breaking down in tears when she and Diego say I do.
It’s horrible.
But if that’s what’s going to happen—
It needs to happen. I need to know. And he needs the closure. To release her or… not.
If not…
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.”
“You still have something to prove to her?”
Not exactly. “She’s family, Forest. I have to.” I stare into his eyes. “Do you still want to?”
“I never wanted to.”
“Oh.”
“But if you need me there, I’m there.”
“Because you… you don’t want to see it?” I swallow hard. “To see her get married?”
“I don’t want anything to do with her.”
“You’re over her?” I wrap my fingers around the mug. It’s cold. Soothing in a strange way. Like I’m preparing for my entire world to go cold. Only I—”don’t answer that.”
He just stares back at me.
“I, uh… it’s only been a week. You don’t have to know.”
“But another week and a half will clinch it?” He raises a brow really.
Maybe. Better than nothing. “Things are different. We’ve uh—”
“Fucked?”
“Yeah, and we… we’re something.”
“We are.”
“You’re my… boyfriend.” I try to say it with confidence. Get halfway there.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Good.” I reach for another spoonful of ice cream. This time, I bring it to his lips.
He sucks on the spoon like it’s some part of me.
My sex clenches. He’s just so… uh…
“I do want to be your boyfriend, Skye.” He steals the spoon. Feeds me a scoop of ice cream. “But you have to know something.”
“Okay.” I don’t want to know anything. I want to stay with I want to be your boyfriend. But that isn’t life. There’s always some clause.
I know Forest well, yeah.
I care about him.
Love him in… in ways I can’t even begin to describe.
I also know him well. And, he…
He’s not the most functional when it comes to relationships. So I should listen. Hear him. Believe what he’s saying.
“You know the song I Will Survive?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“Holden set it as my ringtone for Mack,” he says.
“Of course he did.” That’s classic Holden.
“There’s this line that always gets me.” He feeds me another scoop.
I swallow hard. It’s still good—rich, creamy, sweet, comforting. “Okay.”
“About being okay, because you still know how to love. Because you’re ready to give your love to someone who loves you back.”
“It’s good advice.” But what does it have to do with us?
His brow furrows. “Yeah, I just…”
“What?” Please don’t say “I still love her.” Anything but that.
His voice is matter-of-fact. Accepting. Like he’s sure of his fate. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be there.”
“You don’t know if you’ll get over Mackenzie?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “If I’ll ever know how to love again.”
Oh. That’s worse. Or maybe the same. Would I rather he love neither of us? Or both?
“I care about you, Skye. I… you’re the most important person in my life. You’re family. And you know I’d die for my family.”
“Yeah.”
“But I—”
“It’s only been… like a week.” I want all his love, yeah, but I can be patient. Patient ish.
“True.”
“You don’t have to know now.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Because I have something way more fun than this conversation.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes.”
“But—” I hold up the ice cream.
“Do it anyway.”
“What do I get?”
“Trust me.”
I set the ice cream on the coffee table. Place my hands over my eyes. “Should I count?”
“Sure. To ten.” He moves around the apartment.
One, two, three—
He grabs something from the desk.
Four, five, six—
The TV turns on.
Seven, eight, nine—
Light flashes.
Ten.
I open my eyes.
Look straight to the TV.
To the adult video on the TV. It’s paused at the moment. On a frame where things are… just starting.
It’s actually really nice. All bright and white and light. An attractive couple in a clean bedroom. Framed beautifully.
Not what I expect from porn.
“Do you want to?” His fingers brush my thigh. “I won’t cry if you say no, but I really, really want to watch you watch.”
“Oh.”
“What do you say, Skye? Will you watch with me?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Forest
Skye’s eyes stay glued to the TV. She stares, transfixed by the frozen image.
Probably judging its composition.
It’s nice—as far as I can tell.
A director known for creating videos specifically for women. Apparently, that means more beautiful images, more story, more emotion, more affection.
As Skye would say, no violent skull fucking.
Not what I normally watch.
Not because I dig violent skull fucking. Or facials. Or big fake tits.
Because I can’t stomach the kind of intimacy on display in this video. Not usually.