Then comes Hayden—a man fifteen years older, wiser, worldly. Experienced. But I’m completely different with him. Someone new and bold. Less shy and more confident.
I like this new side of me. I don’t want it to go away.
He moves in closer, his nose brushing the tip of mine. “You have to say when, Emilia.” His words a husky murmur against my eager, willing lips.
“Huh?” My brain is foggy from his proximity and eagerness for his kiss.
“You have to say when—when to stop, when it’s too much, when it ends.”
“Say when?” It comes out as a question.
“Yeah, you’re in control here. Always.”
“What if I don’t say when?”
He presses a tender kiss against each corner of my mouth, not quite on my lips but close. “You will.”
And then he kisses me, silencing all my thoughts until there’s only him.
My fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt, holding on tightly so he can’t change his mind and pull away too quickly. His tongue seeks entrance and my lips part eagerly. I don’t have many kisses to compare Hayden to, but I know he’s good at this. Normally I might worry that I’m terrible, but all thoughts flee from my brain and my body takes over on instinct, following the lead of his. He tastes like cinnamon and sugar. It’s addicting and might be my new favorite flavor. His body encompasses mine and I find myself falling onto my back, the couch cushions pillowing beneath me. He holds his body above mine, careful not touch me in any other way than our lips though I wish he would. I want to know the feel of a man’s body against mine. No, not any man’s, just his.
I don’t understand myself. I’ve spent years being shy and cautious of the opposite sex, but with Hayden I feel entirely different. I’m not afraid to be myself. It’s not even that he’s safe. If anything, Hayden is the complete opposite of safe. But feelings, I’m learning, are undefinable. They exist and demand to be … well, felt.
His lips leave mine for a brief moment and I mewl in protest. He brushes his nose against mine, his breath fanning against my cheeks. “Say when, Emilia.” He’s practically begging me to end it, desperation in his voice.
“Not yet.” I tug on the short strands of hair on the back his head, forcing him back to my lips. He obliges, smiling against my mouth before he kisses me like he never stopped to begin with. I don’t know how long he kisses me for, but it’s not enough. “I didn’t say when.”
I pout as he sits up on the couch with a sigh, shoving his fingers through his disheveled hair. “I’m calling time for tonight.”
“For tonight or for good?” I notice he won’t meet my eyes and he’s shutting down.
Reluctantly he brings his gaze to mine. “I don’t know.” It’s not the answer I want, but I can tell he’s at least being honest.
“It’s too fast. Isn’t it?”
He rubs his stubbled jaw, another bone jarring sigh echoing in his chest. “Yes and no. Chemistry is undeniable. It either exists between two people or it doesn’t. And for some reason, whenever I’m around you the pull is strong and despite the control I normally seem to possess it goes flying out the window in your presence.” His eyes shift over to me, studying my face. “But even with chemistry, you can’t deny we don’t really know each other all that well.”
I hang my head. “You’re right.”
“You’re young.” His eyes flicker over me, pain and confusion in his green eyes.
I flinch. “I know.”
He sighs again and dammit I’ve never hated that sound more in my life. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, Emilia. I just mean … I’m older … and fuck I’m not explaining this right.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I mean that I don’t want to pressure you into anything. That’s not me. Contrary to what some might believe, I don’t do this.” He waves a hand between us. “And I’d feel like shit if one day you’re telling someone all about the older guy who took advantage of you.”
“How are you taking advantage of me if it’s something I want? Look, I get it that I’m young, but it’s a kiss. It’s harmless.”
His eyes darken but not in anger. “It’s a kiss for now, but later…” He leaves the words hanging there and they aren’t difficult to fit in.
“Fine.” I scoot away from him. “We avoid the chemistry then and focus on friendship.”
For some reason at the mention of friendship tears prick my eyes. I miss Molly. God, do I ever. But in her absence, I’ve realized how important it is that I put myself out there and make new ones. Not to replace her, definitely not that, but to grow as an individual I need those new relationships.
“Friends,” he muses softly.
“What’s your favorite color?”
His brows furrow. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Because,” I pick up a fry and chew the end of it. It’s cold now and flavorless because all I can taste is Hayden. “It’s what friends do. Know random shit about each other. Like colors.”
Honestly, I should’ve asked him something way more interesting than his favorite color, but it was the first thing that popped in my head and seemed an innocent enough question.
He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s trying to force him to keep his hands to himself. “Lately, it’s blue. Usually, it’s green. What’s yours?”
I look down at my lap. “Beige.”
“Why?” He blurts in surprise.
“Because it’s bland, boring … safe.”
Beige is neutral. It goes with everything. It can be classic but dull. Beige doesn’t stand out in a crowd. It blends in. It’s a shy color. It doesn’t rock the boat. Beige is content to let others shine.
I am beige.
Suddenly, I hate the color.
Chapter Nine
The door creaks open Sunday afternoon, the day before classes start, and Molly pokes her head inside, her hair a fiery red halo pulled up into an unruly topknot. Her eyes reflect both sadness and sheepishness as she steps into the apartment, dropping her bag on the floor, a large box in her hands. I didn’t see her on campus Friday for orientation, and I don’t know whether she actually skipped or came and simply avoided me. I’m betting on avoidance.
“Hi,” she says softly.
“Hey.”
God, we’re awkward and pathetic. Despite being friends for so long there are still moments where it feels impossible to speak your emotions openly. Sometimes it’s not about lack of bravery, but simply not wanting to hurt the feelings of someone you love.
She closes and locks the door behind her, checking the knob three times in quick succession to confirm it’s locked.
She eyes me on the couch, chilling in a pair of camo sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt, and wrapped in a blanket. Sure, it’s the end of August, but I’m always cold.
Blowing out a breath, she holds up the box in her hands. “Peace offering?” She frames it as a question. “It’s your favorite.”
Pursing my lips, I cock my head to the side. “What is it?”