And spending days and days with his beauty, his generosity, his teasing, his attention, his fabulous body, hearing his deep, rumbling voice, trying to find sleep beside him in bed at night, seeing him stroke himself in the shower, knowing he could use his mouth, I wanted that. I wanted all of it. I wanted it na**d and moving on me, in me. I wanted all of him.
To tell him this, I pressed up into his body and his arm slid up my back then moved out so his hand could slide down my side from pit to waist, his thumb extended so it brushed light against the side of my breast and just that simple touch sent shocks of electricity between my legs so strong, I thought for a second just with that, his weight on me, my arms around him, his leg tangled with mine, his tongue in my mouth, I was going to come and do it hard.
Then I suddenly found myself on my feet by the side of the bed, teetering because I didn’t know how I got there and the loss of all the beauty I’d just had was a brutal shock. I only remained standing because Ty’s big hands were cupping my jaws, his thumbs moving through the wetness still on my cheeks but his big body was held distant, the few feet between us seeming like miles.
“Christ, I’m sorry,” he whispered and I blinked up at him in profound confusion.
“What?” I whispered back breathily.
“I’m sorry, Lexie. That won’t happen again. I promise you, it won’t happen again.”
I blinked again, his hands dropped away, I felt the loss of them like a blow and I watched, I… actually… watched as he closed down. Completely. He snapped the shutters tight and the Ty I’d been getting to know disappeared behind that impenetrable wall that had been up when he’d walked out of prison five days ago.
“Bathroom’s in there, you wanna clean up,” he told me, jerking his head to the side. “Take your time. They’re cool. They’ll get it. Come down when you’re ready.”
Then, without another word or glance, he walked away.
And I stood there in what I realized was a huge bedroom, watching him disappear down a flight of stairs wondering what just happened and hoping it wasn’t what I thought it was.
Hoping at the same time knowing that it was.
Because good shit didn’t happen to me.
Lady Luck played with Ronnie and she also played with Ty, giving and taking, not in equal measure but they got their chance to taste sweet.
But she didn’t like me.
Not at all.
Chapter Seven
Still Feeling Hollow
I opened my eyes and saw Ty’s pillows beside mine, the down depressed from his head resting there but his head wasn’t resting there as it hadn’t been the morning before or the morning before that or the morning before that.
I knew it was stupid but I looked for a note on the pillow, his nightstand, my nightstand but there wasn’t a note as there wasn’t the morning before or the morning before that or the morning before that.
I flopped to my back on the bed and looked at the wood paneled and beamed arched ceiling.
I should probably be thankful I had a few days of it, a few days of sweet, a few days of teasing and soft voices and endearments.
But I wasn’t.
Because if you don’t know how good something can be, you don’t know how bad you’ll miss it when it was gone.
I sighed, stared at the ceiling and let the last few days sift through my brain.
When I finally got back to the party, everyone was a bit watchful and a bit friendlier (if that could be believed), handling me with care though doing it without prying. I tried to relax and pulled on my game face. I was a newlywed married to their Ty, happy, giddy and about to help my man put the past behind him and start a new life.
The good thing was, with that many people, all of them wanting Ty’s time and to get to know me, distance from him didn’t seem unusual, so I nursed that as best I could. He was in huddles, I was in huddles. Sometimes, we’d find ourselves in the same huddle and his arm would move casually around my shoulders and I’d smile bright and listen hard so I didn’t miss anything but mostly so I wouldn’t dissolve into tears again.
And those tears I was holding back were because his arm slid casually around my shoulders, tucking me to his side, a place I liked to be but no matter our physical closeness, he was gone. I saw it in his impassive face which he didn’t only give to me. He was going through the motions and I wasn’t the only one to notice this. Tate caught it early on, Krystal not long after and Wood not long after that.
But they didn’t say anything. They watched but said not a word. We ate, we drank, we cut the cake which Ty flatly refused to do in a traditional wedding way no matter how much everyone was teasingly trying to push him to do it. I ended up doing it, saying stupid shit about how the superhero Mr. Humongo was above cutting cakes and didn’t use the laser beams he could shoot from his eyes for trivial purposes, making people laugh and doing all this in an effort to cover for him.
Then we opened presents. Like Ty, his friends were generous. A whole set of brand new, stylish, expensive stoneware including serving platters, bowls, creamer and sugar, the whole enchilada. It was awesome, the tops and insides a shiny, dusky sky blue, the backs and outsides a gorgeous matte dark gray. Also a whole set of beautifully shaped glasses including drinking, wine and even martini glasses. And a whole set of unusual but kickass cutlery. And, last, a new KitchenAid coffeemaker.
“Ty’s got good shit but he’s a man. Men buy expensive TVs and mattresses. They do not think of stoneware,” Maggie explained to me after I’d opened everything (Ty also didn’t open presents) then to Ty with a wicked smile she said, “Goodwill, honey. That’s where your old stuff is. Kiss it good-bye.”