More Than Words(30)

She could quit. Focus on the Gregory Corporation. Focus on Tim. Live her life in a way that would carry forth her father’s legacy—the one he cared so much about that he gave a speech to Rafael’s Junior Achievement club about it. Her dad didn’t approve of quitting in general, but this seemed like one of the extenuating circumstances that would make it okay.

Tim moved in his sleep and tightened his hand on Nina’s stomach, pulling her closer to him. She took a deep breath.

Hey, she typed back to Rafael. Thanks for checking in. I’m here with Tim. Good for leaning purposes. Listen, I’ve been thinking: Would it be better for you to hire someone else to write your speeches for the general? I’m not sure if I’ll really be able to handle that on top of all of this. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to handle all of this, honestly. And you need someone who can give the election 100%.

Her finger hovered over the send button, but she didn’t press it.

She added: I can send you some suggestions if you need. And then she hit send. She felt an immediate pang of regret, a sense of loss that was an echo of the one she felt when she’d hung up with him that morning, but she knew she’d made the right decision. And maybe, in time, they could be friends. Without seeing each other nearly every day, whatever sparked between them might fizzle out and leave mutual respect and admiration behind.

Nina stared at her phone, waiting for a response. She wondered if he’d try to convince her to stay. Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared, then disappeared again. Nina put her phone down on the coffee table, frustrated with herself for caring so much, frustrated that her heart was trying to talk her out of a decision she knew was the right one. She took off her glasses, then rolled over slowly, shifting so that she was facing Tim now, and scooted herself down. He rolled, too, so he was more on his back than his side. Nina closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She felt so safe in his arms. Before long, she’d fallen back asleep.



* * *



? ? ?

When Nina woke up again, Tim was awake but hadn’t moved. His arm was still wrapped around her. Her head was still on his chest.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said.

“Morning,” she said back, pulling her hand out from under the blanket to rub her eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s not actually morning,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her nose. “It’s a little after noon.”

When he moved, Nina felt his hip roll sideways and then there was a hardness against her thigh. Her eyebrows went up and Tim bit his lip. “Sorry,” he said. “I woke up like that. It’ll go away soon.”

Nina reached down, trailing her fingers along his jeans, feeling him warm under denim.

“Well, it won’t go away if you do that,” Tim said.

Nina couldn’t help it. She found erections fascinating. All of a sudden, men weren’t completely in control of their bodies. This thing just happened. Sometimes when they wanted it to, sometimes when they didn’t. And they couldn’t make it stop. It wasn’t like raising an arm or rising up on tiptoe. It was like something overtook them—awake or asleep, it didn’t matter.

“Do you want it to go away?” Nina asked.

Tim shrugged. “It feels like the wrong day to have sex,” he said.

Nina thought about that. Was it? Or would there be comfort in it? A statement to the world, to herself, that she was still alive. She was still here. She could experience pleasure in spite of pain.

“It might be,” Nina agreed. But her fingers were still on his jeans. He got harder.

Then he looked at her, a question in his eyes. His hand moved to the hem of her shirt, asking permission. When she nodded he slipped it into her bra, running his fingers around her nipple.

Nina closed her eyes. She reveled in the moment of pleasure. And then she felt guilty that she was feeling pleasure on the day her father died. Tears began to drip from the outer corners of her eyes, gravity pulling them down her cheeks and into her hair.

“Are you okay?” Tim asked, his hand no longer under her shirt.

“No,” Nina said, opening her eyes. “I’m not. But it’s not your fault. It’s not because . . .”

“It’s okay,” Tim said, his hand stroking her hair now. “You don’t have to say anything. I knew it wasn’t the day for this.”

She wasn’t quite sure if he was right, but, “I guess not,” Nina said. She pulled herself closer to him, laying her head back down against his shoulder.

Then Tim’s stomach growled. Nina could feel it rumble against her.

“You may not be hungry,” he told her. “But clearly I need to eat something.”

Nina knew she should, too. She straightened her T-shirt, readjusted her bra. “Want me to make us lunch?” she asked, wiping her eyes. She’d been making food for Tim since they were in elementary school, when she put peanut butter and sliced bananas on Ritz crackers and drizzled them with honey and called it Nina Nut Crunch.

“I think I can handle it,” Tim said, shifting sideways so he could get off the couch.

Nina turned her head and kissed Tim’s T-shirt. It was warm from his body heat—and hers.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“For being you,” she said.

Tim bent to kiss the top of her head, and Nina watched him as he walked across the room, looking so comfortable in her kitchen, like he belonged there.