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“Why not? I can promise you everything,” I told her, frustration mounting internally.
I was sick of her fucking games. Either she wanted me, or she didn’t. I wanted her. She seemed like she wanted me only when she was bending over for me.
“Robert, as much as I care about you, this isn’t realistic,” she said, her voice softer now, like she was trying to talk herself out of something.
“Do you care about me?” I asked.
Her eyes snapped up to meet mine. “Of course, I care about you. How can you ask that?”
“So then what’s not realistic about it? All it takes is two people who want it,” my voice was firmer than I intended, but I was fighting the instinct to tell her to keep her arguments.
I wanted to run. I couldn’t. She mattered to me. I needed her to know what my intentions were. I shoved my feet into my jeans and bounced into them slightly.
“You don’t even want me to say his name! That’s not possible. Our lives are so intertwined,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the door.
I got her point. He was right outside. He was so present in our lives. It was true. I couldn’t make any requirements that dramatic. I needed to understand that he was around.
“Fine, you can say his name,” I conceded, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “But I want to keep seeing you. I like you, Delia. And I think you like me.”
She smiled a small, shy smile as she buttoned her pants. Her hands lingered on the button for a moment as if stalling. “Yeah, I like you, too.”
Grinning, I rubbed my hands up and down her arms. “So do this with me. Be with me, Delia. Try.”
“I just think that’s going to be hard without Jeremy finding out eventually. I mean, he’s your best friend. Plus, he’s your therapist, as weird as I think that is. And he’s still my practicumsupervisor. I know you want to protect his feelings, but... is it really possible to keep him from finding out?”
I ran my hand through my hair, pushing my curls out of my eyes, and shook my head. “I don’t know, Delia. All I know is that I don’t want to lose you. Maybe we could just tell him.”
Her head snapped up, and her eyes went wide. “No!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with panic. “I can’t risk my place at the clinic. Please, Robert, we can’t tell him.”
“You wouldn’t be risking anything,” I said quickly, stepping closer to her. “He’s not going to hold it against you. If anything, I’d be risking my friendship. But you’d be safe. He can’t hold it against you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her brow furrowing. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to tell him. And I don’t know how to keep him from finding out. Especially if we keep doing this in such close proximity to him.”
“You’re right,” I admitted, with a heavy sigh. “We’d have to be more careful. But I want to keep seeing you, Delia. I need to keep seeing you.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes distant and unfocused as she considered my words. “Be more careful,” she repeated softly, almost like she was speaking to herself.
Finally, she looked up at me, her expression torn. “Would that be possible? I mean, we keep finding ourselves entangled in the worst possible places. Could we tamper it down?”
“I would do anything to be with you, Delia,” I said, my voice earnest. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and a feeling I couldn’t place flashed across her face.
“Are you okay? Is that okay? I mean, you feel the same way, don’t you?” I asked, my chest tightening.
“God,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I think I do.”
I exhaled, relief flooding through me. “I know it will be hard. But you don’t have that long until you graduate, do you?”
“Six months left,” she murmured, almost like she was reminding herself.
“Okay, so we’ll keep it under wraps for six months! We can do that, can’t we?” I grabbed her impulsively, pulling her into a tight hug.
She stumbled slightly, losing her balance, and I steadied her against me. “Can’t we?” I asked again, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“We can,” she said with finality, lifting her face to mine. I craned my neck to kiss her, but just as our mouths were an inch away, she said, “But what happens to your friendship at the end of those six months?”
I didn’t answer. That was something I’d have to find out. I couldn’t think about it or plan for it. I had no plan. Instead of answering, I kissed her lips, the lips that were wrapped around my cock just minutes before, the lips that had told me they cared about me and hated me, the lips that had lied to me and told me truths. Complicated lips that stole my breath when they met mine.
Lips that I would betray my best friend for.