All Your Perfects(15)

Graham looks at the front door and I wonder if he changed his mind. Did I do something to turn him off? Is he still thinking about Sasha? He looks like he’s about to call it a night. He pushes off the table and I remain seated, waiting on him to give me all the reasons why this isn’t a good idea. He moves his body so that he’s standing directly in front of me. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands before he tells me goodbye, so he just shoves them in the pockets of his jeans. His gaze falls to my neck before traveling back up to my face. It’s the first time his eyes have looked more intense than anything else. “Where’s your bedroom?”

I’m shocked by his forwardness.

I try to hide my internal conflict because I would love more than anything to get back at Ethan by fucking his lover’s hot boyfriend. But knowing that’s also why Graham is here makes me wonder if I want to be someone else’s revenge sex.

It beats being alone right now.

I slide off the table and stand up. Graham doesn’t step back, so our bodies touch briefly before I move past him. I feel it everywhere, but mostly in my lungs. “Follow me.”

I’m still nervous, but not nearly as nervous as when I was putting the key into the front door. Graham’s voice calms me. His entire presence calms me. It’s hard to be intimidated by someone so sad.

“I never make my bed,” I admit as I open the door to my messy bedroom. I turn on a lamp and Graham’s frame fills the doorway.

“Why not?” He takes a couple steps into my bedroom and it’s the strangest sight. This guy I don’t know at all, standing in my bedroom. The same bedroom where I should be wallowing on my bed in brokenhearted anguish right now.

And what about Graham? Does this feel just as strange to him? I know he’s had doubts about Sasha or he wouldn’t have been following her to Ethan’s apartment building with an engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket.

Has Graham been looking for an out? Have I? Am I just now realizing it? Because right now, I’m nervous and anxious and everything I shouldn’t be just hours after my life took a turn for the worse.

I’m staring wordlessly at Graham when I realize I haven’t answered his question about why I don’t make my bed. I clear my throat. “It takes approximately two minutes to properly make a bed. That means the average person wastes an entire thirty-eight days of their life making a bed they’re just going to mess up.”

Graham looks amused. He gives me one of his half smiles and then glances at my bed. Watching him take in my bed makes me feel unprepared for this. I was prepared for a reunion with Ethan tonight. Not for sex with a stranger. I don’t know that I want the lights on. I don’t even know that I want to be wearing what I’m wearing. I don’t want Graham to have to take clothes off my body that were intended for another man. I need a moment to collect myself. I haven’t had a moment yet and I think I need one.

“I need to . . .” I point toward the bathroom door. “I need a minute.”

Graham’s lips curl up into a slightly bigger smile and I realize in this moment that those incredible lips are about to be touching mine and I suddenly don’t feel worthy. It’s a weird feeling because I am a confident woman. But Graham sets a standard for confidence that I’m not used to. His confidence makes mine feel like uncertainty.

I shut myself in the bathroom and stare at the closed door. For a moment, I forget what I’m even doing in here, but then I remember I’m about to have sex with a guy who isn’t Ethan for the first time in four years. I kick it into high gear. I open my closet door and sift through it to find the most unassuming thing I can find. It’s a blush-colored nightgown with spaghetti straps. It isn’t see-through, but he’ll be able to tell I’m not wearing the bra I’m currently ripping off. I pull the gown on and walk over to the bathroom sink. I pull my hair up into a loose bun to get it out of my face and then I brush my teeth and my tongue until I’m convinced my mouth won’t remind him of the Chinese food we stole earlier.

I check myself in the mirror and stare for a little too long. I just can’t seem to wrap my mind around the fact that today is ending this way. Me . . . anticipating sex with a man who isn’t my fiancé.

I blow out a calming breath and then open my bathroom door.

I’m not sure what I expected, but Graham looks the same. He’s still standing in front of the bathroom door, still wearing his jeans and his T-shirt. And his jacket. And his shoes. I’m looking at his shoes when he whispers, “Wow.”

I look back up at him. He’s closer. His face is so close to mine and I really want to reach up and touch his jaw. I don’t usually pay attention to a person’s jaw, but his is strong and covered in stubble, leading all the way up to his mouth that looks as sad as his eyes.

I think he notices our proximity because he immediately takes a step back and waves his hand toward my bed.

My pillows are all lined up and my duvet is tucked under the mattress and completely wrinkle-free. The corner of it is neatly folded over, revealing the sheet beneath it.

“You made my bed?” I walk toward the bed and take a seat on it. This isn’t how I envisioned this starting, but it’s only because I’ve been stuck in an Ethan routine for the last four years.

Graham lifts my duvet and I pull my legs up and climb into my bed. I scoot over far enough for him to join me, but he doesn’t. He just pulls the covers over me and sits down on the bed, facing me. “It’s nice, huh?”