Don’t Be in Love

33

Don’t, Just Don’t, Think About Kissing Her — Dorian

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a hat or something? Maybe a mustache?” she asked as we stepped out of the cab and onto the Westminster Bridge.

“Why’s that? Don’t want to see my face?” I cocked a brow.

She pulled her knit hat over her head. It was cute. Really cute. And distracting. Definitely something a friend shouldn’t be thinking.

Watching her leg bounce in the cab was painful enough. It’d graze my knee every few minutes and make me flinch. The longer there was contact, the more I wanted to lean into her.

“What if someone sees us?” She pulled the collar of her gray coat tighter around her exposed neck.

“It’s the holidays, I’m not too worried about anyone taking our picture. And anyway, I’m usually in Italy with James by now, so that’s where they’d be looking for me.”

She glanced around, realizing I was right.

Christmas Eve, around the London tourist sites, was quiet. Few people passed us on the bridge. Not enough to barricade any of the wind shoving at our coats.

Big Ben winked at us from above with its warm yellow face. Lampposts peppered across the Bridge mirrored the same light.

I took my burgundy scarf off and threw it over her neck, tugging her forward to secure it in place. She let me pull her in. I couldn’t tell if she was surprised by the action or simply alarmed that she was accepting it. Her black hair cupped her face, held down by the cashmere.

“Why aren’t you in Italy with James right now?” she asked.

“Do you really need me to answer that question?”

“Maybe I wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Admit that I wanted to be around you? I didn’t think that was something I had to disclose.” I adjusted her hat. It didn’t need to be adjusted. But I was restless. She made me restless.

I was getting dangerously vulnerable. Maybe it was the four glasses of gin I had at the pub before walking to her flat. But realistically, it was the moment I saw her in the dim lighting of her kitchen that unraveled me. This harsh craving to hold her sparked. It hit me like a truck. Two weeks away from her was unsolicited torture. I should’ve been fine. Our deal was complete. She helped me pass the class. She didn’t have to see me. She probably didn’t want to see me.

For the first few days, I believed that. But the way her neck craned to meet my lips thirty minutes ago, I didn’t believe it anymore. Especially when the small phone box keychain was hanging from the purse on her shoulder.

There was something between us. And I was going to tell her. Tonight. No excuses, no redirection, and no flirting that curbed the truth.

If she said Sabrina was the only problem, then I’d explain on Adelaide’s behalf to her friend.

If she mentioned Victoria, then I’d tell her it was over. I’d explain how I stopped at Victoria’s earlier (before dreadfully hitting the pub) to tell her I was done. That I loved someone else.

If Adelaide didn’t feel the same way, then … I guess I’d spend my holiday pretending that my heart wasn’t slowly bleeding out.

Returning to campus would be another problem. One I couldn’t withstand to imagine right now. Not when she was standing in front of me with the tip of her nose pink from the air.

“So what are we doing here?” she asked.

“You’ll see. It’s just a short walk.” I took her gloved hand and slipped it into my coat pocket.

A cold, but quick stroll across the length of the bridge, and she was already trying to pull me in the opposite direction.

“You want me to get on that? No way.” Despite the intimidating look of determination on her face, panic was evident in her voice.

“It’s on the list! And you can’t live in London and not go on the London Eye,” I explained. The spinning structure sparkled above us like a perfect white snowflake. It did look quite large from this angle though.

“Dorian, no, really I can’t do this.” Her hand gripped mine with the power of a vise.

Despite losing feeling in my fingers, I squeezed her hand back, trying to give her a place to focus. “I’ll be with you, don’t worry. But I can’t let you miss this, not with the snow coming down and the Christmas lights up on the bridge.”

If she said no again, I was prepared to turn us around. I wanted to help her face a fear, not traumatize her.

With her hand cutting off the circulation in my palm, she stared up for a few moments before she finally gave in and continued to walk, allowing us to approach the entrance where one of the large glass globes was coming to a stop and opening.

An employee in a branded jacket nodded for us to go on.

“What’s going to happen if I vomit? Because as of right now, that’s incredibly possible.”

The uneasiness of her legs was apparent as we stepped inside, the door closing behind us. I guided her to the long bench that sat against the back of the globe before her legs could give out from the sudden motion.

“No one will see you vomit”—because I paid an exuberant amount of money to have someone let us on despite its closing to the public three hours ago.

“What if I vomit on you?” Out of context, it sounded like a threat.

“I’ll send you my dry-cleaning bill then.” That earned me a laugh. Finally . My shoulders relaxed.

But once the ride kicked into gear and we began moving, her hand shot to my leg. I covered her knuckles with my palm, trying everything in my power not to flinch at the way her fingers splayed across my thigh.

“How high up are we? Actually, never mind, I don’t want to know.” She spoke in a rush, her eyes squeezed shut.

I peeled my gaze away from her to look at the skyline. The inside of the pod was dark, but the city lights exploded with color. We had a bird’s eye view of all of London’s most notable sites.

Tower Bridge was outlined in white bulbs while the London markets were illuminated by Christmas trees and hot chocolate stands. Snow fell in slow motion, melting into the Thames River below. There was so much to look at. So much light pulling the eye in different directions. I wasn’t sure if John Constable, a painter known for his landscapes, would even know where to start.

I looked back and her eyes were still shut, leg bouncing away.

“Hey, look at me,” I said softly.

I squeezed her hand. She didn’t budge. Picking up my palm, I carried it to her face and paused instantly.

What am I doing?

I took in the features of her face in secret, absorbing the arch of her cheek bones and the length of her dark lashes. My heart pounded in unison with each part I memorized. Before I could get to her lips and torture myself more, I cupped her jaw.

Her eyes immediately opened. Surprise passed over her face before I opened my mouth.

“You’re going to miss it,” I told her.

“How pretty could it possibly be?”

“Very pretty,” I assured. “Come on.”

I stood and gave her my hand. She went a step further and held onto my arm as if I was courting her, nails digging into my bicep. Four steps and we were in front of the glass.

Her hold on my arm loosened slowly and then pivoted to the glass altogether as she admired the scene outside our personal snow globe.

“It’s gorgeous,” she exhaled. Her warm breath marked the glass.

“Was it worth it?” I asked.

“Worth being splashed with water and dragged out into the cold?”

I rolled my eyes. “Taking a chance. Being scared,” I clarified.

“You sound like Sabrina.” Fatigue sat in her voice.

“Why is that?”

“She tried to make the same argument with me before leaving for Paris—that I don’t take chances. That I let fear consume me.” Her finger tapped the glass where Big Ben stood.

“Why’d she say that?”

“Because she thinks I’m making myself unhappy by avoiding my love for James.”

My heart sunk to the bottom of my stomach. Thunderous pumping blood pounded in my ears.

My love for James.

“Your love for James …” I repeated.

She faced me, light bouncing off the right side of her face. “It’s ridiculous, I know. She thinks we’re in love with one another and that I’m trying to avoid it.”

The pounding quieted.

She turned back to the view.

“What makes her think…that?” I asked. A bitter taste sat at the bottom of my throat. I couldn’t fathom saying, What makes her think the two of you are in love?

Since the day James mentioned asking her out, we rarely spoke of her to maintain sanity. The need to question him on when he asked her, how he asked, and how she reacted, was insistent.

I assumed she must’ve said no since I never heard about a date. But Adelaide said no to many things, even to those she wanted. She was stubborn.

“She said I’ve been acting differently: isolating myself at these events, going out when her and Mia are busy. Drinking coffee. Maureen even mentioned the cute guy that walks me home.”

Shit . So much for doing a good job at upholding my end of the deal .

“You hate coffee.” It came out more like a question.

She ran her fingers over her brow. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Nightmares?”

“Something like that.”

“I can understand.” I nodded.

A pause.

“Do you like James?” I asked.

She turned in surprise. “Are you asking me if I like him romantically?”

I gave her a look that said, What else would I mean?

She waited for an answer.

“Do you enjoy torturing me?” I asked.

“I didn’t know James’s interests fell into the Torture category.”

“Not James’s. Yours.”

“Would it bother you if I liked him?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking.”

“And what way is that?”

The way that I’d never be completely happy for my best friend without also constantly craving touching his girlfriend . “That’s an answer you don’t get to know right now. Now answer the original question.”

“I don’t. James is just my friend,” she said softly.

The fluttering in my ears finally stopped.

“It was worth it, by the way,” she continued. “Experiencing this.” Her small smile was warm and thankful.

Before I could gather enough words to respond, we were back on the ground. I was clutching her hand so she wouldn’t trip when stepping out. After passing the attendant a tip, we were walking back over the bridge. Snowflakes collected on her scarf and hat, even sticking to her dark hair.

I tucked her hand back into my pocket to keep it warm. It was torturous, doing this to myself. But a voice at the back of my head was telling me to absorb as much of this as I could before she possibly rejected me.

“Was that rain?” She held out her gloved hand as if to catch something.

“What?” I was more focused on her hand in mine rather than the weather.

“The rain—”

Her words were cut off by buckets of rain colliding with the bridge and river. The snow that had been falling was quickly replaced by a downpour of rain. She yelped and tugged on my hand, pulling us into a run.

“Let me guess, no umbrella!” she shouted over the raindrops pounding the cold asphalt. The scarf flew across her mouth against the wind.

“It’s not like you thought to bring one!”

Once we were across the bridge, I searched for a place for us to stop while we waited for a car. But everything was closed. It was Christmas Eve. And it wasn’t like Westminster Abbey offered much coverage with its sky-high spokes.

The only solution I could spot amongst the blur of the lights was the last spot I wanted to be stuck in. But Adelaide was shivering.

She didn’t hesitate to follow me as we passed Big Ben and crossed the street. Jumping onto the sidewalk, I ushered her into the small box.

“A telephone booth?” she laughed as I shut the red door behind us.

“Not my first choice, believe me,” I exhaled and shook out my hair. Dark strands of her own stuck to her face as she peeled her knit hat off.

I leaned against the side of the phone box, across from the actual telephone, to give us—her—space.

“I’ll call a car now that we have somewhere to wait,” I said. The weather drummed all around us as I called my driver, avoiding Adelaide as she peeled wet layers off herself and wiped shook them out.

“Yes, right by Westminster,” I explained. “Thanks.” Once I hung up and returned my gaze, she was already putting the scarf back on. “He’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

She nodded, looking around the tight space. Looking anywhere but my face.

I should tell her. Right now. This was the time.

But watching the night sky cup her face in a series of shadows, and witnessing droplets trace the shape of her jaw as she admired the rain, my whole speech evaporated. I didn’t want to lose her. I couldn’t lose her.

What would I even say?

I tried, you know. To look at you as a friend. I really did. But every time you smiled. You laughed. You breathed. Your lips parted. All I could think about was kissing you. And you’re not supposed to want to kiss your friends. You’re not supposed to want to brush the straps of their tops off their shoulders and kiss down their neck and across their collarbones.

“Dorian?” Her voice was soft like silk. The embodiment of liquidized pearls.

My gaze dove to her.

Maybe if I didn’t answer she’d say it again. But my mind worked too quickly, wanting to know what she needed, so I responded, “Yes?”

“Thank you, for tonight.” She gave me a short smile. “I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun around Christmas.”

“I was hoping you’d enjoy it.” I rubbed my hands together without the company of her gloved hands.

A moment of silence passed before my curiosity got the best of me. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“What?”

“Earlier, you said you started drinking coffee—”

“Oh, I told you. Nightmares.” She fiddled with the ring on her index finger. A ring I was pretty sure I had kissed that August night.

“No, those were my words that you went with. What is it really?”

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. What’s your question?”

“You said you weren’t sleeping either.”

“That’s not a question.”

She continued, “You said you understood having nightmares. So what’s keeping you up at night?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Can’t answer my question with another question,” she rebutted.

“I imagine all the paintings in my home being stolen or lathered in peanut butter beyond repair.”

“Are you ever serious?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Some would say damage to artwork is the most serious enigma of them all.”

She exhaled in annoyance and turned for the door—

I caught her elbow and stopped her.

“Fine, fine.” I took a breath. “You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you .”

She froze. “What about me?”

“I dream about you.”

She stared at me in disbelief.

“You’re really going to make me say it again?”

Her eyes darted across my face. She didn’t believe me. But she wanted to. Or else her elbow wouldn’t be in my hand still.

“Yes,” she repeated.

With the slightest force, I tugged on her arm. She obliged, taking a step. Her eyelashes were still wet, pulled into sharp points like the tip of a detailed paintbrush.

I let my hand travel down the length of her arm before stopping at her fingertips, holding on.

“You keep me up every night. I dream about August. And I dream about the night before Halloween when we kissed. And I dream about seeing you kiss someone else. I dream about things that haven’t even happened.”

The tightness in my throat made it feel as if I just ran five miles. I was capturing air from the contained space to keep from saying anything else.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed at the skin on my forehead. Way to look pathetic, Dorian. She’s horrified now. Part of me wanted to retreat, while the other half was grateful the words were finally out.

“Do you wish they had happened—the dreams?” she asked.

“That wasn’t the question.”

“It’s a new question.” She stepped forward.

“Adelaide,” I warned. This was an opening to embarrass myself. An opportunity to divulge how suffocated I was by the dreams of her—of us. I felt like a mouse backing away from a cat.

She took another step closer, forcing me into the wall of the booth, nowhere to go. I was pinned. I looked to the right where the bridge stood stronger than I was now.

“Dorian,” she responded. Then her fingers found my chin and pulled my gaze down. My throat bobbed. A pathetic apology for what I was so close to doing.

“I’m not answering that question,” I said firmly. “You haven’t even answered mine.” I was beyond flustered. “If this is your way of torturing me, it’s working. Because I lose all ability to lie when it comes to you—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” she exhaled before grabbing the sides of my coat and pulling me down, crashing her lips against mine.

The rain seemed to cheer behind us as my shoulders fell backward into the glass.

My inner conflict immediately collapsed. A fortress built block by block left in disarray, and all the rubble sat in Adelaide Adorno’s hands. I shoved more of the debris into her grip by taking her jaw between my palms and kissing her back.

Her hands found my shoulders, my neck, my hair, my jaw. She was shaping me like a sculptor. My skin felt hotter than the surface of stove after a pot of boiling water. I tried to take it all in. Absorb it. But I couldn’t stay still. With a hand on her hip and another at her neck, I switched our places, pressing her against the glass.

I didn’t pull away as I peeled off my coat. She took the wrists of the fabric, tugging it off the rest of the way. I didn’t waste time finding her again, my hands catching her waist and pulling her into my chest.

I couldn’t get her close enough. I couldn’t get enough of her.

How is this real? How is this real?

She parted my lips as if demanding admittance for something she’d been patient for. I’d let her do whatever she wanted.

“God, Adelaide,” I groaned.

I absorbed the taste of the coconut lip gloss I stared at all night, sweeping my hands over her frame. I memorized her hips. I memorized her lower back. Her breathing, the back of her arms, the arch of her neck. Wet strands of hair even wrapped themselves around my rings.

I was suffocating and breathing the freshest air at the same time. I couldn’t fathom how she was real. She was everything I never knew I needed. And now I couldn’t let go.

Our hands moved along each other’s bodies in conversation.

I love you , the hand cupping her jaw, said.

I love you , the hot breath I was gasping for, said.

I love you , the desperate kiss I pressed against her lips, said.

Silence rang out from her end. I couldn’t read any of her movements.

And then, the sound of a car horn blared in the street.

We jumped away from each other. Grogginess swept my muscles.

She exhaled.

I inhaled.

I counted every inch that stood between our lips, my brain calculating the number of seconds it would take to reach her again. No different than any other time I was around her.

But as we caught our breath, all I could think about was how I was supposed to ignore my feelings now.

“Tell me to stay,” I said.

“What?” she breathed.

“Tell,” I exhaled. I couldn’t catch ahold of my breath. She had it all. “Me. To. Stay. With. You.”

“You’re supposed to be in Italy with your family and James.”

“They are the last thing I’m thinking about right now.”

“Dorian …”

“Tell me something, Adelaide. Because I care for you so much that I’m losing sleep over it.”

“I … I don’t know.”

I steeled myself. “When I come home, I’m going to come see you. And if your answer is still ‘I don’t know,’ then I’ll leave you alone.”

I may have said those words, but I wasn’t sure of how I was supposed to stick to them if her answer was anything but I care for you too .