Going the Distance (17 page)

She laughed, cheeks heating, the sudden flirtation throwing her for a fresh loop.

“I'm
sorry about last night, too,” he added quietly. “I'd have asked if you wanted to hang out, but...”

“You had some major news to break to your mom.”

“But I'm all packed now, if you felt like having a goodbye drink...?”

Did she?

An invitation to one last taste of their addictive chemistry, a hard offer to pass up. But also an invitation to let Rich burrow that much deeper under her skin, make their actual parting sting all the more. Her obsessive crush had dogged her for ten months the last time he'd gone away. This time she'd be saying goodbye to a friend and lover, not just a hot acquaintance. Every resulting emotion was bound to ache a hundred times worse—longing, jealousy, uncertainty...

But one look at the hopeful, mischievous gleam in those dark eyes, and she knew her answer.

“Sure. That'd be nice.”
Yeah, nice. Nice and masochistic.

They made their way up to Rich's floor, pausing in his kitchen to grab a pair of beers.

“My last drink till Thanksgiving.” He smiled, handing her both bottles. “Would you like to see my belt?”

She laughed. “I would, actually.”

He led her down the hall. “Oldest trick in the book.”

“Funny how you didn't need it last time.”

He flipped on his bedroom light and ditched the crutches, hopping to the corner beside his closet. From a flat cardboard box he lifted the belt from between sheets of bubble wrap. Lindsey's eyes grew wide and she set the beers on his dresser, crossing the room.

“Wow, it's heavy.” A black-leather-and-gold-plated monstrosity, all done up with rivets, the organization's logo on an octagonal field of chain-link pattern. “Can I try it on?”

“You can wear it to bed for all I care. In fact...” His eyes glazed, suggesting he was imagining her wearing nothing
but
the belt to bed.

She rolled her eyes and wrapped it around her waist, holding it in place as she went to the wall of mirrors.

“Wow, I look tough.” She swiveled this way and that, watching the gold glint. “And it's so slimming.”

“I wish I could've shown my sixteen-year-old self this. Some hot blonde in my room, modeling my championship belt.”

Lindsey did her best cheesy impression of a ring girl, holding the belt aloft and grinning sex-beams all around the room.

“Okay, okay. It's going to your head.” He took the belt from her with a smile, nesting it back inside its bubble wrap.

“Do you have to give it back if somebody beats you?”

“No. That'd be kinda gross, considering how many dudes' sweat and blood it'd get marinated in.”

“Ew.”

He grabbed his beer and hopped to sit on the mattress and unlace his shoe. Lindsey followed suit.

They sat cross-legged, sipping their drinks and talking about the fight for a long time. Then Rich shot her a look, dark with bad intentions.

“What?” she asked, knowing perfectly well
what.
He took her bottle and set it with his on the bedside table. Her middle gurgled with those nerves it seemed she'd never stop feeling, no matter how many times she got close to this man.

Rich lay down, urging her to join him. He sandwiched her knee between his, smiling as he brushed her hair from her face. His gaze jumped from her eyes to her mouth and back again, half a dozen times before he finally leaned in to kiss her. The contact warmed her from her head through her middle, all the way to her toes and fingertips. More than lust, it was the familiarity of this touch, this mouth, this man that had her entire body blushing. She curled her fingers around his collar and deepened the kiss.

Rich tugged her into the embrace, hugging her leg between his thighs. A strong hand molded to her waist, coaxing her center closer to his. Everything that had happened the last time they shared this bed flashed through her memory, sped through her bloodstream. But behind the arousal, a storm cloud lurked.

This is goodbye. No matter how good it is, you might never enjoy it again.
And in a few short hours, Rich wouldn't be this man in her arms. He'd be that face on a screen, belonging to everyone.

His hands were at her hem, sliding her top up. She pushed the painful thoughts aside and helped him peel it away. He did the same, and for blissful minutes she got lost in his mouth and the sensation of his restless flesh warming hers. She felt him smile against her lips, heard that smug, happy hum in his throat.

Some other woman could be relishing that same sound, and who knows how soon? Could be tasting this mouth, feeling these hands on her bare skin.

The worries set snakes loose in her belly, twisting queasily.

Rich's fingers found the button of her jeans. She let him lower her fly and ease his palm inside to knead her hip. Eager, he took her hand, pressing it to the front of his pants to find his cock stiff and ready behind the smooth fabric. He slid his hand back inside her jeans to return the caress, and for a minute she was too turned on to feel anything aside from desire.

Then a helpless, hungry moan fell from his lips to warm hers, and the reality of what she was doing—and what she stood to lose—hit home.

Another moan, and he murmured, “I'm going to miss this so much more than beer and ribs.”

She went rigid against him, her hand fleeing to his hip.

“There's so much I wanted to do with you,” he whispered. “I thought we'd have weeks.”

Her voice quavered. “Me, too.”

His fingers stroked her, slick and eager. “Before I go...I have to know how you taste.” He began edging down her body. “If you'll let me.”

“I...”

Noticing she'd gone stiff as stone, he paused and met her eyes. “You okay?”

“I don't know.”

“We don't have to, I just like it. But if you—”

She pulled away, feeling naked.

“What's the matter?”

“I can't do this.”

* * *

R
ICH
SAT
UP
as Lindsey did the same, dizzy as his body tried to flip so quickly from lust to alarm. His cock ached, angry. But even addled with arousal, he could guess exactly when he'd stepped in it.

Smooth one, jackass.

“Linds, wait. I'm sorry—I was kidding, about the ribs and beer. I'm not really rounding you in with that stuff.”

She yanked her top back on. “I know. It's not that.”

“What, then?”

She swallowed, meeting his eyes. “I thought I could just roll with this, like it's just fun to me—just sex. But I can't. I'm sorry.”

He slung his bad leg over the edge of the bed as Lindsey scrambled for her socks and shoes. “Hey, hey. Slow down.”

She studied him as she buttoned and zipped her jeans, some mix of hesitance and resignation in her eyes.

He patted the comforter. “C'mere.”

She sat. “Sorry. This was all supposed to be really simple, just the two of us hooking up.”

“But it's not?”

“Not to me,” she said, eyes on the blanket, then she sighed. “I wanted it to be.”

What had it been to him? he had to wonder. A pleasant diversion, to start. A mutually pleasurable arrangement, and one he got to share with a woman he now saw as a friend—not usually how sex worked for him. If it was something more, he couldn't afford to let himself think about it. This time tomorrow, he'd be three thousand miles away. It was a nonoption for too many reasons.

Was he supposed to touch her? Hold her? Unsure, he reached out to rub her knuckles with his fingertips, all the closeness he dared hazard. “What is it for you?”

“I'm not sure. A crush, I guess.” This woman, always ready with a barbed retort, yet the admission had her bashful and mumbling. “A bad one. One that gets worse every time we...you know.”

That, he understood. The sex should have quenched their thirst for one another, but even he could admit that it only deepened the craving. “Right.”

“And as much I want to, I dunno...make the most of you while you're here...it's making it worse. I want way more than you can give me.” She paused, huffing a frustrated breath. “Sorry. I didn't want to ever have this conversation with you.”

“How come?”

“The same reason it hurts so bad now. Because I knew the score, and I thought I was fine with it being whatever it was, just temporary. And knowing that was supposed to keep me from getting emotional about it. About you.”

If someone had given Rich a heads-up about this discussion, he'd have gone into it with dread, formulating a plan to cut her loose as painlessly as possible.
It's not you, it's me.
Which was exactly true, come to think of it. Lindsey was great. She was wonderful. And she deserved a guy who could offer what she herself was prepared to give.

He cleared his throat. “I can't be that for you. Anything more than this,” he added, nodding to mean the bed. Never had words left his mouth and made his chest hurt so acutely. Was this guilt? It didn't feel like guilt.

“I know you can't. I knew going in. That's why I feel so stupid for even being upset. You were supposed to leave thinking I was as blasé about our hooking up as you are.”

Not guilt, he realized—grief.
I can't be that for you.
It was the truth, but he wished it wasn't.

Rich bit his tongue, so close to admitting it was different for him, as well. But that was a luxury he couldn't afford. “If I come off like I don't care, it's nothing personal. I can't be anything extra to anybody at this point in my life—not aside from my family. I can't make room for anything else, not until I know I've done my job as a provider.”

Her smile was limp and void of surprise, twisting his aching heart. “And when will you feel like you've succeeded at that?”

The question spurred a different pang. “I'll just know. I'll know when I've done enough that I can make room for other things. Other people.” He had to believe that.

She cast her eyes down and took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” he offered, rubbing the back of her hand.

“Don't be sorry. I'm not sad for myself, not beyond feeling really dumb. Not the way I feel sad for you.”

“For me?”

“It sounds so...lonely. Only letting yourself be one thing. Like you're hiding behind your role as a provider.”

A new feeling surged, one that jabbed with a hot, sharp finger.
Hiding. Lonely.
Rich knew isolation. His father had modeled it for him perfectly. “I'm not hiding from anything. I'm stepping up and doing what needs to be done. I'm not
hiding.
” So why on earth would the allegation sting the way it did?

Lindsey's hand slipped from his as she stood. “You're cheating yourself, acting like you've only got one dimension.” She hopped, pulling on a sock.

“Has it never occurred to you that maybe I do? I'm good at
exactly
one thing.”

She gave him a long, peculiar look, as if translating what he'd said from another language. “There's a lot more to you than that. And it hurts to hear you say the opposite, since that means you must think I was only ever interested in you because of your job or your money—”

“Linds.”

“Because it was never about that for me.”

What
had
it been for her at the start? Sex? Surely not—Lindsey struck him as too complex a woman for such a simple answer. “What then?”

“I guess...just you.”

“What do you mean?”

She sat and pulled on the other sock, thinking. “If I needed anything from you...I don't know what to call it. But it's not something that could be taken away by an injury or a loss.”

The words jabbed him anew, discomfort churning.

“It was how you made me feel, maybe. When it was just us, just being with each other. There's this fire in you. This...energy. This thing that made me forget who you were, outside the body in my arms, or the man standing across the room from me.” All at once she looked mortified again.

Rich didn't know what to say—he wasn't even 1 percent as good as she was with all this emotional, self-awareness stuff. He needed labels, simple names to assign to who he was and what he felt. Angry, horny, triumphant, exhausted. Tidy, black-and-white terms that reduced his emotions to on-off switches.

She sighed. “I get that we see the world differently. I'm not trying to get you to change your mind, or saying you should. I guess I just want to say, don't sell yourself short. You've got more to offer than the things you give yourself credit for. And you deserve to feel valued for those things.”

Nobody ever said stuff like this to Rich, no one except his mom and sister. The women who knew him. He felt a bone-deep shiver and had to look away from those searching blue eyes. How she managed to peer right through his skin and into his heart, he'd never know. And it was yet another unnamed sensation he couldn't handle right now.

“Anyway,” she said, slipping into her shoes.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Only one thought wanted to be aired, but he couldn't go there.

Are you in love with me?

Even if she was, Rich would have no clue what to do with it.

He'd been told that by women before. Tipsy women, more often than not, with that starstruck heat in their eyes, right before or after he took them to bed to cap off a fight. That shallow adoration.
I think I might love you,
he'd been told, and he'd smiled as if he believed it. But in his brain, all that echoed was
You don't know the first thing about me. About who I am, where I'm from, what matters to me, what goes through my head before I fall asleep. You don't love me. You haven't even met me.
But he let them believe they did. Let himself believe it for as long as it took to bed them, because the truth was too lonely to contemplate.