Oblivious

Chapter 10

Breathless, I stared at my best friend. Years of memories began to shift and turn. How had I not seen this? How had I not known my own feelings?

"I'm so confused."

Ayden's throat bobbed as he clenched his fingers along my side. It was a desperate grip. "What do you want?" he asked.

What did I want? I wasn't sure. In an uncomplicated world, I would have had all the answers. I would have understood how we fit together—how the kiss played a part.

"I want to move back." It would be a first step. A kiss, then a question. I wanted to be back in his life, friends or something more. Anything to have him in my life.

I could still taste him on my tongue, a hint of coffee and something entirely Ayden. My lips started tingling, and I felt a mix of confusion and an aching need to do it all over again. Friends. I wasn't sure that would work, not after that kiss. Was it even possible to revert from this?

Ayden leaned back and felt at his pockets. The keys jingled while my pulse continued to throb. I had no words to say when he slowly retrieved one lone key from the set and placed it in my palm.

"Maybe we should go home?" he suggested, his voice rough.

It was a scary suggestion. Nervousness battled with need, but it was all so new. My thoughts were too scrambled, my body all too ready to receive everything he wanted to give. But was it what we both wanted?

"I need to get my bags at the hotel, but I'll come back."

Ayden stiffened as if rejected. That wasn't what I had meant, or wanted to say.

Worried, I tugged him closer and drove our lips together again. Turmoil and confusion, but most of all that frightening need. He opened up, his lips pliant and receiving. His entire body relaxed beneath my touch, still strong and determined, but willing.

"I'll come back." I said.

"I'll be waiting." He was breathless, much as I was.

* * * *

The shabby hotel hadn't improved since I left, and it felt cleansing to get my shit out of there and return home. It had been a few intense days, in too many ways, but regardless of the emotional roller coaster, my goal was to get back and try to work it out.

Riding in the backseat of a cab back to Ay's apartment, my mind went through a hundred different possibilities of how this might not work out. I wouldn't say I was a pessimist in general, but these last few weeks had wrecked me. Perhaps I should have held on to the frantic feeling of having him in my arms, tasting his saliva, but a nag of dread lingered at the edges. There were too many potential pitfalls. Hell, his job was one of them. How would we deal with that crap and stay sane?

If we began something, if we left friendship behind for something else, would I be able to handle the knowledge of what he did for a living? Could anyone?

I asked the driver to put on some music, but changed my mind when I only got more stressed. Traffic was hell, as usual at this hour, but I didn't complain. I needed more time. I didn't want to admit it, but I was scared. I was scared to walk through that familiar door—scared to face the chances of failure.

A car honked behind us. I looked up and realized that we were close. The driver turned a corner, and then another before hitting our street. I almost wanted to ask him to drive me somewhere else, but stopped myself from voicing that stupid notion.

I paid the guy, grabbed my bags and lit up a cigarette. Trying to calm down, I stood there, inhaling the only thing that could settle my nerves a bit. People walked by, but I must have been scowling because not one said hi or acknowledged me at all. When I was down to the filter, I dropped the butt to the ground, squishing it with my boot. I had lingered long enough. It was time to face my best friend.