At Any Turn

“How are you feeling?” she asked when we were almost there.

“Fine.”

“You aren’t—sore?”

I tossed her a quick look as I downshifted. “Oh, you mean due to your attempt to maim me and ensure I’ll never father children?”

Her lips twisted into a wry smile as I slowed and pulled into the parking lot at Heath’s complex and killed the engine. “You know I could make an ice pack for you. If you want to come in, that is.”

I hesitated. Oh, this was going better than I’d even dreamed when I’d gotten the idea. She was actually asking me in. I thought at best maybe we’d chat for a bit in the car before she got out. Maybe even a good-night kiss.

I really had no desire to stick ice on my boys—none at all. They were still a little sore, but not enough to warrant an ice pack. But it would be worth it to ice my crotch if it meant spending time with her alone. Any time alone. Even if we just sat on the couch and watched reruns of Doctor Who. The ice pack was a small price to pay for that, I decided.

“That might help,” I lied. I’d put it on for five minutes, maybe, and then dump it.

And even as I followed her into the apartment, I began to wonder what the heck was going on in that bleached-white head of hers. I settled in on the couch and she came from the kitchen with a gallon-sized plastic bag full of ice cubes. It was way too much. I swallowed my pride and settled it on my crotch and waited. She seemed at a loss for what to do, so I scooted aside on the couch and she sat down beside me, as I’d hoped she would.

She bent to grab Heath’s TV remote. He had a fairly good-sized plasma screen and a decent sound system. It wouldn’t be a punishment to watch old reruns on it—especially if it meant I got to sit with Emilia. She hesitated, fiddling with the remote. She wanted to talk, I could tell, but I was going to fight every urge inside of me to take over the situation. I’d orchestrated this setup, sure, but now I was going to sit back and let her drive this where she wanted it to go.

She gave her head a toss—flicking that strange hair over her shoulder. I didn’t take my eyes off of her; couldn’t, really. Even with that ridiculous white hair, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to me.

“You were wrong today, you know…about—about my not being interested in those parts.”

I suppressed the urge to sigh in frustration. But I stayed silent. Without a word, I pulled the ice off my crotch and set it on the ground beside the couch, laying it on a towel she had given me. She watched me and continued to fiddle with the remote.

“Are you going to leave now?” she asked in a quiet voice.

I watched her carefully, scared I might startle her away. When I spoke, I kept my voice quiet. “Do you want me to?”

She cleared her throat, her eyes avoiding mine. “I don’t know what I want,” she said in a trembling voice. She wasn’t talking about my going or staying.

I waited, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. I wanted to reach for her, to pull her against me, smell her scent, kiss her neck. But this had to come from her.

She reached out and fiddled with one of the buttons on the middle of my shirt, scooting a little closer to me. “Am I confusing you?”

Not only was it hard to breathe, it was hard to speak. “Yes.”

She swallowed. “I’m confusing myself, too.”

I wanted to lean in and kiss her, wanted to take over, take the indecision from her, make this my decision, my action. I knew what I wanted. I wanted her. But she had to know what she wanted. If I took over, she’d just complain about me being a control freak again.

She laid her head lightly on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to wrap my arm around her, to lean in and smell her hair. I’d tensed briefly from the contact of her against me, but I forced myself to relax. “I miss you,” she whispered again.

Pain lanced through me. I ignored it. “I’m right here,” I said. “You don’t have to miss me.”

She brought a hand up and laid it on my chest, right in the middle. I was aware of everything that hand did, every square millimeter of contact against me, the spread of her fingers as she laid them over my heart, the throb of my heartbeats under her hand. I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of her.

“I know,” she said, her voice trembling. Then she tilted her head to look at me and began to kiss me along the line of my jaw. My only response was to curl my arm more tightly around her waist. I closed my eyes and let her kiss me. She was in control and I wouldn’t do a thing to change her perception of that.