He blinked a few times, and I felt my stomach roll because I’d hurt him. I wanted to throw up.
Is that what Pasha had been talking about? The time she saw him almost cry?
But I shouldn’t feel bad about this. Jared had had sex with numerous women before we were together, and I’m sure plenty since we’d been apart.
“It was six months, Jared.” I grabbed some paper towels and turned to him, cleaning up the paint on his hands. “I’m sure you had been with someone else by that point.”
He stepped closer, reaching up to play with a lock of my hair. “No,” he whispered. “I hadn’t been with anyone.”
My eyes shot up. “But . . .” I winced, my gut clenching. “I saw you. I saw girls everywhere around you. At the tracks, hanging on you in pictures . . .”
I hadn’t moved on because I thought he had, but I never thought he was holding back, either. I assumed . . .
He let out a hard sigh, turning back to his painting. “The girls come with the crowd, Tate. Sometimes they want pictures with the drivers. Other times they just hang around like groupies. I never wanted anyone but you. That’s not why I left.”
A flutter swarmed through my chest, and I knew that my heart still wanted him, too. No one else had even held a candle to him.
“It was so hard living without you, Tate.” His voice sounded weary. “I wanted to see you and talk to you, and I’d lived so long with you as the center of everything, I just . . .” He hesitated, his voice turning thick. “I didn’t know who I was or what I was going to offer you. I relied on you too much.”
I looked down, realizing that he’d been wiser than me. Jared left because he knew he needed me too much. I hadn’t realized how much I needed him until he was already gone.
“I relied on you, too.” I choked over my words. “I said it in my monologue senior year, Jared. You were something I looked forward to every day. After you left, I constantly felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me.”
In our final year of high school, when I’d finally had enough of my childhood friend bullying me, I stood up in front of the whole class and shared our story. The loss, the heartbreak, the pain . . . They didn’t know what they were hearing, but it didn’t matter. I was only speaking to Jared anyway.
His timid eyes urged me as he said, “And now?”
I sighed as I absentmindedly dipped the brush in paint. “And now,” I led in, “I know I can stand on my own. No matter what happens, I’ll be okay.”
He looked back to the wall, responding almost sadly. “Of course you will.” And then he asked, “So are you happy?” He repeated my own question to him back to me, and I wondered why he asked that. I’d just said I’d be okay.
But I guess he knew that didn’t exactly mean I was happy, either.
No.
No, I wasn’t happy. He had been a piece of the puzzle, and nothing had filled the space in his absence.
I ignored the question and kept painting.
“Do you have anyone out there now?” I ventured. “Anyone you’re seeing?”
I brushed the wall in short, quick strokes, like I was petting Madman, as I watched him warily.
He dipped the brush into the paint. “After I saw that you’d moved on, I tried to as well,” he told me. “I’ve seen a couple of women since then, but . . .” He stopped and gave me a teasing sideways glance. “No one’s waiting for me.”
I cocked an eyebrow, digging the brush into the wall. A couple of women.
Now I was jealous.
“I’m proud of you for getting into Stanford.” He changed the subject, throwing me off. “Are you excited?” he asked.
I nodded, giving him a tight smile. “Yeah, I am. It’ll be a lot of work, but I thrive on it, so . . .” I trailed off, swallowing the lump in my throat.
I did want to go to California. And I definitely wanted to go to medical school. But I didn’t want to think about how things were changing forever back here. My dad’s marriage. The house going on the market. Having Jared close, but not having Jared.
He stopped painting and looked at me pointedly. “What’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem,” I retorted.
He approached me, cocking his head like he knew I was lying. Like he knew I still wasn’t happy.
I lifted my shoulders to my ears, denying it. “I said there’s no problem!” I laughed and then looked down. “And you’re dripping all over my feet!”
I curled in my toes as paint from his brush fell onto my skin.
“Oh, shit,” he said in surprise and lifted the brush up, smacking me in the face.
I growled, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Oh, shit!” Jared blurted out again, laughing. “I’m sorry. It honestly was an accident.”
“Yeah.” I opened my eyes again, squinting through the paint covering my lashes on my left eye. “Accidents happen.”
And then I shot out, running my paintbrush down his face and chest, sending him rearing backward.
“No!” he shouted, holding out his hands and still laughing. “Stop!”
I lunged for him again, and he darted out his paint brush, wetting my arm.
I scowled. “Ugh!” I barked. “You’re going to pay for that!”
And I raced after him as he dashed into the foyer. Reaching out my arm, I caught him on the back, swiping my brush up and making the tree tattooed there look a little snow covered.
He swung around and grabbed my wrist, pulling my back into his chest.
I squirmed, sending his brush falling to the area rug.
“Let go!” he ordered, tickling my sides. “Drop it now!”
“No!” I laughed, keeping my elbows locked at my sides to shield myself from his attack.
He grabbed my wrist, pulled it up, exposing my underarm, and tickled. I hunched over, crying out in a mix of terror and delight as my own paintbrush fell to the floor.
“Jared! Stop!” I shouted, my stomach tight with laughing so hard.
He let go, wrapping both of his arms around my waist, and we just stood there, breathing hard as we tried to calm down.
It felt so good. Having fun with him again.
I laid my arms on his, my breath catching in my throat but my heart still racing as I soaked in his heat at my back. My tank top was the only fabric separating his skin from mine, and without thinking, I turned my head, nuzzling into him.
His hot breath fell on my ear, and I leaned into it, feeling the clenching of the muscles in my womb and wanting his touch.