Chapter Forty-Three
Music without passion is merely noise. A life without passion? You may as well be dead. —Gabe H.
Gabe
“Shh.” I pulled her into my arms and dragged her to the couch, then I turned on the fireplace in front of us. I was thanking my lucky stars that I’d had a cleaning crew go through the house and air everything out so we weren’t sitting on dust. “You know, you’re going to give me a complex. I’m supposed to be making it so you don’t cry.”
Saylor sniffled against my chest, not raising her head. “I’m so sorry. I just—”
“What?”
“You found the one. At the right time. The girl you loved. The girl you wanted everything with. You were so brave, so… raw. You gave her everything and…” Saylor’s breath hitched. “Looking at pictures of you guys together… it destroys me, Gabe. It’s not fair.”
I closed my eyes and held her tighter. “I know.”
“It’s not fair,” she repeated. “It’s not fair that I’m here and she isn’t. It’s not fair that you have to show me your house and that she can’t be the one to make cookies for you every Christmas. She’s never going to come through those doors and walk into your embrace. That is never going to happen.”
I fought the tears clogging in my throat. “I know.”
“I feel unworthy,” Saylor whispered. “To see this. To be with you. It should be her.”
“You’re not unworthy.” I stroked her arm. “I’m sharing this with you. You, Saylor.” I pried her away from my chest so I could look into her clear blue eyes. “The thing about life? It never goes as planned. But, right now, in this moment, with you in my arms. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Please believe me when I say that. This moment — it’s a gift. Just by being here, you’re making that pain a little less sharp.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Number four,” Saylor whispered.
“What?” I watched her lips as she spoke.
“Tear number four. You just made up for it.”
“By making you cry more?” I touched my forehead to hers.
“No.” Saylor cupped the back of my head. “By understanding the tears in the first place.”
With a shaky voice I answered, “They weren’t because of me.”
“No.”
“They’re for me.”
“Yeah. A tear for a tear,” she said softly. “Isn’t that what you said?”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. I could only nod as I watched the flames lick wildly in the fireplace.
After a few minutes of silence, I looked down at Saylor. Her hot little dress and high heels were still on.
We were alone in an amazing house that I hadn’t visited in four years.
And we were sitting on a couch.
Depressed.
“Am I the worst date ever?” I blurted.
Saylor’s head jerked up, a watery smile appeared, “Well…”
“No more tears.” I got up and marched toward the kitchen. “You’ve seen the house. You know the story. Now we’re going to be awesome.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up as her gaze followed me into the kitchen.
I didn’t really know my way around anywhere, but I did know that the staff had stocked food in the pantry and that a few menus for takeout were lying around just in case we got hungry.
“Next person who cries has to run around outside naked,” I declared, lifting the menus into the air.
Saylor tilted her head. “You do realize that just makes me want you to cry right?”
I smirked. “There are easier ways to get me naked, honey.”
She blushed and looked down at her hands.
“Aw, the pink pony’s making a comeback,” I teased.
Saylor crossed her arms, and lifted her head, eyes sparkling with indignation. “It was purple.”
“A pony’s a pony — you still ride it.”
Saylor’s face flamed red.
“Gotcha.” I winked.
“You’re too confident for your own good.” She scowled.
“Does the fact that I slept with my rat next to my bed until he died make me any less confident sounding?”
“No.”
“I hate spiders?” I offered. “And I’m slightly terrified of them?”
Saylor took a few steps toward my spot in the kitchen. “How afraid? Like if a small spider skittered across the floor, what would happen?”
“I’d scream and squash its hairy ass.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin and took a few more steps, “And if I put a spider in your bed?”
“I’d weep,” I answered honestly. “Honest to God tears. And then I’d scream and squash its hairy ass.”
She flashed a grin and leaned against the counter, which meant her entire body was outlined by the back glow of the fireplace. I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “And if I was dressed as a spider?”
My eyes didn’t leave hers when I answered, “I’d pin you against the floor, strip the costume off and then attempt not to squash your very pretty, gorgeous, infuriating ass.”
I wasn’t sure who reached for whom first.
But all of a sudden our bodies collided, our mouths met in a frenzy. I lifted her onto the countertop as she wrapped her legs around my waist. With a moan, her body trembled beneath my touch. I cupped her face with one hand while I steadied her body with the other. I wanted to kiss her until my lips were sore, until my mouth was swollen, until my body was spent, so basically I wanted to kiss her until forever.
This kiss was different.
A lifetime of kisses — and nothing compared to her mouth, her touch, her taste.
It was shattering to realize how incredible of a pull another human being could have on someone — just by touching them.
But Saylor wasn’t just touching me, she was enveloping me with her body, she wasn’t just kissing me, she was sharing her soul with me. Saylor was showing me what words couldn’t express.
Her tongue drove me wild as it swirled around mine — I dug my hand into her hair grabbing a fistful of it as I tried to pull her tighter against my body.
Saylor’s arms tightened around my neck as the sensation of our bodies colliding, rubbing against each other, nearly had me passing out.
Every touch was like getting permanently branded.
She pulled back, her eyes glazed.
I stared at her.