The Accidentals(51)

I shake my head. But I don’t say more, because I’m almost as afraid of the conversation as I am of…what he wants from me.

His fingers slide down again, between my legs. Panicking now, I grab his wrist.

Haze’s hand goes still, but he doesn’t take it away. Leaning over me, he presses a small kiss onto my belly. “Rachel. Am I not good enough for you? Because I’m not a prep-school boy?”

My heart bangs away in my chest. “What? That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” His dark eyes flash. “Who are you saving it for? Who loves you more than me?”

We both know the answer to that one: nobody. But I still need a time-out. I remove his hand from my crotch.

He studies me for a moment. Then he begins dropping little kisses onto my neck. It’s kind of shocking, really, how many nerve endings my neck has. The slide of his lips feels much, much better than really seems fair. He teases the corner of my mouth, and then we’re kissing again.

But then Haze spreads out on top of me again. The view of his muscular shoulders hovering above me is both beautiful and frightening. His kisses pick up steam, and I’m no longer comfortable.

“Haze…” I try.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

I’m about to suggest that we go and find some breakfast. But he sits up and fishes a square packet off the floor—a condom. Then he shucks off his boxers. He’s on top of me even as I’m picking out the words I need to call everything to a halt.

“Not that,” I say, catching his face in my hands.

He drops his head to give me one quick kiss. “I know you’re nervous, but I’ll be gentle.”

“No,” I say forcefully. “It’s not a good idea.” I shift uncomfortably, but I don’t shove his hands off my body like I want to, because I don’t want to freak out at my oldest friend.

“What better chance will there be for us than this?” His dark eyes beg me. “I would never hurt you.”

I know he means that. And yet people get hurt all the time, whether you mean it to happen or not. So I take the condom out of his hand. But he only takes it back from me with his teeth, chuckling.

Once more, I grab it, and this time throw it across the room.

Haze chuckles down at me. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

“Listen,” I plead. “My mother wouldn’t want me taking chances.” Not only is this true, but playing the dead-mother card is the best idea I have at the moment.

His face softens. “Jenny knew this would happen.”

“What?”

“She wanted us to be together. She asked me to look after you.”

“Not like that,” I argue. There are so many things wrong with his statement it’s hard to know where to start. In the first place, there’s a zero percent chance that my mother wanted us to be a couple. She’d called Haze a “lost boy,” and welcomed him to our dinner table.

If rolling over in graves was really a thing, she’d be doing that right now.

Haze strokes my cheek. “Jenny was not as straight an arrow as you think. Why do you think she liked me so much?”

“What?”

He brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Your mom had a thing for bad boys.”

“That’s ridiculous.” It’s also beside the point. My mother did not want me to have sex. She said so many times. She was too afraid that I’d repeat her mistakes.

Haze kisses me again, but I’ve already lost the thread. I’m rigid beneath him as he begins trying to heat me up again. His mouth coasts down my neck and between my breasts, but I’m done here.

“Honey,” he whispers against my skin. “Love me. It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t.” I give him a push. “And if you think it is, then you don’t know me at all.”

He looks up quickly, his expression made purely of hurt. “That’s not nice.”

“But it’s true. Haze, get up.” I feel the inconvenient press of tears at the back of my throat.

Instead of moving, he only studies me with puppy-dog eyes.

“I think you need to leave.” Even as I say it, I know it’s true. I can’t keep having this conversation. And he isn’t going to let it go.

“Rae, you don’t mean that.”

I give his shoulders a push. “I do mean it.” But he doesn’t move.

I forget to breathe. Just as I’m feeling lightheaded, he finally swings off me. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we can talk about it.”

But even with a little breathing room, panic continues to rise like a crescendo in my chest. I’m practically trembling by the time Haze finishes pulling his clothes on. He jams one of his feet into a shoe.

“Is there a coffee shop around here?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I need to be alone right now.” My head is so scrambled that I’m not standing up for myself well enough. But I’m afraid and he doesn’t seem to care. “You shouldn’t have come,” I tell him. Not if you won’t listen to me.

His reaction is a predictable mix of hurt and horror. “How can you say that to me? I took a thirty-six-hour bus ride to see you.”

My throat cracks. “I didn’t ask you to do that.” This is exactly what I’d been trying to avoid. My oldest friend loves me in a way that I can’t return. And I only know one way to make it stop.