Free Nights With Parker by Alice Tribue Page B

Still completely naked, completely beautiful, and of course, still completely unattainable. But I don’t want him … or do I? Part of my brain keeps telling me there’s more to Oliver than I know, more than anyone knows. I think I’ve seen glimpses of him, especially tonight. How he reacted to me being a virgin; how he took care of me and made sure that it was amazing for me. And it was amazing, that fact is undeniable. I never knew sex could be like that, and I never imagined it could feel that good. I look beyond him to the picture window where the lights from the city flood through.
    “It was a promise I made to my father a long time ago. Valuing myself and my body enough to wait for someone who would cherish it,” I say quietly. I look back at him staring at me intently and shake my head. “I mean he never told me to wait until I got married, that was me. That was self-imposed but still … it was my way of honoring him after he died.”
    He shrugs his shoulders. For the first time, he looks truly contrite, almost sorry.
    “I don’t know what to say.”
    “That’s a first,” I mock trying to lighten the mood even though I know it’s impossible to lighten.
    “Riley.”
    “It’s done, Oliver. There’s no going back now. Besides, it’s not the end of the world.”
    “But you’re crying,” he says, stating the obvious. I use my free hand to wipe away the tears that stream down my face. He looks like a child , I think to myself. A child witnessing an adult crying for the first time and having no idea what to do about it. It’s almost endearing, almost makes me want to smile, but I don’t.
    “I think I’m crying more because of my dad than I am about this. For some reason, I think about him more when I’m around you and—”
    “And what?” he prods.
    “I miss him. I miss him, and it hurts. There are days when I can almost make myself forget him, and how different my life is now that he’s gone. How carefree I was before he died. Then there are these moments where it feels like I’m missing something so vital, something I need so badly. It feels like someone ripped my heart out, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
    “It must be awful.”
    “It is,” I confirm with a nod.
    With a tug of his hand, I’m in his lap, engulfed in his arms, my head on his shoulder. It feels so. Incredibly. Good. Beyond good. I fight against that feeling because, in the recesses of my mind, I know the truth. I want him. Of course, I do—he’s arrogant, and has a bad attitude, and probably more money than I’ll ever see in my lifetime. But I know there’s more to him. I can feel it. But he doesn’t want me, not in any way that would make this any less chaotic, and even if he did, he’s leaving. He’s going back to New York eventually, and those are the only certainties that really matter.
    “Riley, I care about you. You must know that,” he says into my hair; his breath feels good on me, intimate, like real lovers. It’s not real, though. Nothing about this is real. He’s saying he cares, but those are just words. It’s not like he’s sorry for the way that any of this went down—the way he stole my virginity—even though he didn’t know it was his to steal.
    “Tell me how to make this better. How do I make you feel better?”
    “I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to push him away, but he keeps his hold on me. He allows me to lift my head up so that I can look at him.
    “What do you want me to say?”
    “Nothing. I want you to say nothing. I just want you to let me go.”
    “Riley.”
    “Let me go, Oliver. Let me get up, get dressed, and get the hell out of here,” I half yell, my mood shifting faster than I’m comfortable with. My desire for him and my anger at him are at odds, and I can’t deal with that while I’m around him. I can’t honestly come to terms with how I feel when he’s sitting here holding me like a precious doll that might break if he’s not careful. I don’t need