Page 71 of Heartache Duet

“You don’t want what?”

He settles his forehead against mine, his eyes shut. He takes a few calming breaths, his shoulders heaving. Then he says, “I keep telling myself that I can do this—whatever this is. But we keep straddling the line between friendship and more… and sure, I can keep doing this with you. I can keep waking up every morning wondering whether that day will be a day I get to hold your hand or kiss you or touch you or just speak to you. I can do that every day for the rest of my life, and you’ll be worth it, but… but I don’t want to, Ava. I don’t fucking want to.”

“I can’t give you what you want,” I whisper, tears pricking behind my eyes.

His forehead drops to my shoulder, his single sigh the sound of defeat. He murmurs, “You keep saying that like you know what I want.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looks up now, his eyes locked on mine. “You, Ava. I want you. On your good days and your bad days—especially your bad days. I want you to let me in. I want you to come to me and look at me the way you’re looking at me now, and know that I’m all in. I just want you.” His voice cracks. “God, Ava. I want you so fucking bad, it’s killing me.”

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.”

My mind tells me that it’ll never work, that our paths lead to different roads and the only possible outcome is heartbreak, but my heart…

My heart says, “Yes.”

His mouth is on mine before I can take a breath, his strong arms lifting me off my knees and on top of him. Then he rolls us over until he’s over me, his weight held up by his elbows. Every inch of him covers every inch of me, and he’s so warm. So solid. So safe. There’s no pain, physical or otherwise, when his hands drift up my side, along my breast, until he’s palming my neck. Careful of my burns, he places his mouth on my collarbone, licking, tasting, and I can’t breathe, but the good type. The type that comes with excitement and joy and anticipation for what’s to come. My foot makes contact with something on his bed, and I lift my head, look at the source. And then I laugh. I shouldn’t, but I do. It starts as a giggle and turns into an all-out grandpa wheeze laugh. Connor looks up, his eyebrows drawn. “What’s so funny?”

“There’s a basketball in your bed,” I laugh out.

He gets on his knees between my legs, the bulge in his boxers prominent. I try not to stare. I fail. He says, “I told you I sleep with a basketball.”

“I thought you were joking!”

He shakes his head.

My laughter simmers down enough to say, “Show me how you sleep with it.”

“Right now?” he asks, and I nod. He adjusts himself, his hand going in his boxers, and I let out a groan as I watch every one of his muscles shift. Disbelief laced in his tone, he adds, “You’d rather watch me pretend to sleep with a ball than continue what we’re doing?”

I nod again, unable to hide my grin.

“Fine,” he says, standing. He taps my leg. “Get off the bed.”

“Sheesh, you’re my boyfriend for all of a minute, and you think you can boss me around?”

“Boyfriend?” he asks, smirking. “I like that. A lot. You must refer to me as that for all of eternity.”

I push him toward the bed. “Show me how you sleep with the ball, you fucking weirdo.”

Chuckling, he fixes the covers, then gets underneath. On his side, one leg bent, he cuddles the ball to his chest and closes his eyes. “Nigh nighs, girlfriend,” he whispers, then sucks his thumb.

With a short laugh, I ask, “Is it normal to be jealous of a basketball?”

He throws the ball across the room, then lifts the covers. All humor gone, he says, “I’ll let you in if you do the same for me.”

I don’t miss the double meaning in his words, and so I bite my lip, hesitant. “I can’t stay.”

He smiles. “I’m not asking you to.” Because he doesn’t want anything more from me than what I have to offer. He wants me. Just me. Exactly as I am.

I get into bed with him and settle in the crook of his arm, my head against his chest. And if magic didn’t exist within Connor, then it exists all around him. Because moments ago, I was dirty, dazed and damaged, and now…

Now I was falling asleep under a starlit sky, surrounded by tiny glimmers of hope.

THIRTY-THREE