Most of All You: A Love Story(19)

“Coffee? Most men request a threesome. The last time I went out with a guy I met here, he showed up at the restaurant with a friend and they asked if they could take turns doing me in the bathroom. Some sort of fantasy they had going, you know?”

He looked momentarily shocked, and then his expression settled into one of sadness. I had meant to repel and disgust him, not make him feel sad. I looked away.

“I’m not most guys, I guess,” he said softly.

No, he definitely wasn’t. He couldn’t even hold my hand without having a panic attack. Maybe he was the safest man on the planet. So why did he make me feel so decidedly unsafe? I picked at my cuticles. When I looked back at him, he was studying me intensely, that same sad look on his face.

“I think you’re getting the wrong idea here, Gabe.”

He pressed his lips together. “How’d you get that bruise?” he asked, nodding to my cheekbone. I had tried to cover it up with makeup, but it had turned a darker purple in the last couple of days, and apparently he’d spotted it. I put my fingers on it lightly. “Hazard of the job. I hit my cheek on the pole.”

He nodded slowly, but didn’t look convinced.

“Please can we just get started?”

“All right.”

I nodded, one jerky movement of chin to chest, and scooted closer. He stilled and his expression changed slightly, but he didn’t move. He held eye contact as I drew nearer, his only reaction to the brush of our thighs a soft intake of breath. My own heart picked up speed, and I felt slightly flushed—the same reaction I’d had to getting closer to him the last time. I didn’t like it. I let my mind drift, moving my gaze from his eyes down to his chin, focusing on the very slight cleft, the angle of his jaw, the stubble that was just beginning to grow in. His stubble was dark, with a smattering of gold pieces throughout. If he ever grew a beard, it’d be lighter than his hair …

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered.

My eyes moved to his mouth just as he finished speaking. “I wasn’t going to go anywhere,” I murmured, feeling disoriented. Why had he thought that?

“No.” He brought his trembling hand up and tipped my chin. “Stay with me here.” He stared straight into my eyes. “I need you.”

I blinked once, then my eyes locked on his. The force of our connection shocked me, as if he had reached out and touched me in some way I didn’t understand, and had certainly never experienced before. His gaze wouldn’t release me. He knew I’d gone somewhere else in my mind. He knew. That desperate feeling in my belly moved up to my chest, into my throat, and I gasped out loud, finally breaking eye contact.

“What’s your name?” he asked quietly. Stay with me here. I stood, stumbling away. When I turned, he was standing, too. Panic seized me. He’d asked for my name, but it felt like he was requesting my soul. No, no.

He was asking too much, and I had so little to give. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t.

“I don’t think this is working.” I pulled myself straight, attempting to shake off the feeling that had overcome me, the inexplicable desperation coursing through my blood. “I … I don’t think I’m the right girl. I’m sorry. I know I accepted the job but—”

He took one step toward me, but no more. “I don’t want anyone else except you. You are the right girl. Please.” He attempted to look in my eyes again, but I avoided eye contact. I can’t … I can’t bear it. This, whatever this is. It’s too much. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence awkward and loud. I wanted to put my hands over my ears to block it out. God, why am I feeling this way?

I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Let’s give it one more chance. We can take it more slowly. I—”

No, it was too much. This. And him. And it was worthless because I couldn’t help him. He needed someone warm and caring, someone who would nurture him and piece together the broken parts, someone who would look in his eyes and be his calming spirit. I was not that girl. I couldn’t even begin to piece together all my broken parts as I’d lost most of them long ago. I shook my head. “No.”

His disappointment felt …tangible. I wanted to turn away from it. He sighed and reached into his pocket, drawing out his wallet. He counted out the money and handed it to me. I almost declined—I had hardly earned it, but he must have sensed my reluctance because he pushed it forward. “I insist.”

I took it and stuffed it in my bra, forcing a smile, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry this didn’t work out. It…it wouldn’t be right for me to waste your time or money. There are several other girls here who I can recommend to take my place—”

“No, thank you.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, okay. Good luck.”

He nodded and stepped past me. I heard the click of the door as he closed it behind him, and something about it brought to mind a cell door shutting.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Don’t give up. Everything is possible when you have the right friends.

Shadow, the Baron of Wishbone

GABRIEL

“Fuck,” I muttered, tossing the small stone bird aside. I’d just accidentally carved off his beak. I picked up a second piece of marble and sat staring at it for a moment before sighing and reaching for my hammer and chisel. For a few minutes I was able to get lost in the work as I roughed out the shape, but then her face crept back into my mind. I set my tools aside and removed my gloves.