Heavy Issues (23 page)

“The only regretful thing about this whole food situation,” he continued, “is that I won’t get you to suck chocolate syrup from my cock. A loss, true, but not the end of the world. You can make it up to me by letting me lick whipped cream off your nipples.”

Her eyes flashed, and she snorted in amusement. “Honey, you put whipped cream on my boobs, and
I’ll
be licking them.”

Cole threw his head back and burst into laughter. God, she cracked him up.

Christy watched as Cole paid for their corn on the cob. She was trying very hard to ignore the way the female vendor swooned over him, but she was failing miserably. It was official: the fake dates had to go. Now. Before she killed somebody.

Her objectivity and detachment had gone to hell in a handbasket in less than two weeks of pretending to date Cole. So freaking Stone Age of her.

In retrospect, going to the Bowens’ barbecue had been a big mistake. Everything had gone downhill from there. It’d been a private event, and him acting proprietary in front of all his family had taken their relationship up another level—for her, that is. He’d joked with her, touched and kissed her, kept her on his lap while they played Trivial Pursuit, sometimes lightly kissing her, sometimes murmuring things to her.

He must not have brought too many dates, if any, to the family gatherings, because everyone had looked surprised—and curious. Aunt Maggie had grilled her all the time, but she’d left the kicker for the end. Just as Cole and Christy were leaving, she’d hugged her and whispered, “
Please don’t hurt him
.” Her heart had skipped a beat because Christy had honestly wanted to tell her that she wouldn’t hurt him, that she’d take care of him. That he was safe with her.

Boy, was she delusional.

And instead of putting distance between them, what did she do? She’d let him stay the night at her place.

Obviously she couldn’t manage this make-believe dating with any decent degree of perspective. It was seriously fucking with her head. And her heart.

Christy was getting attached to him. The lines were getting blurred, and it scared her. She could see herself depending on this man for her well-being and happiness. She could become her frigging mother for crying out loud, running after him, begging him to love her.

Cole had made it very clear at the beginning what he had to offer and what he didn’t, but at some point she’d begun to wishfully project fantasies onto every one of his actions. As a result the fake dating didn’t feel so fake to her anymore. Like the day before yesterday during the martial arts exhibition he’d participated in, where at the end of it, he’d come to her and kissed her silly in front of God and everyone. If he hadn’t been holding her by the waist, she would have melted at his feet. She knew all that was pretending, but still. There was a limit to how much hand-holding and acting possessively a girl could take without getting dangerously confused. And hopeful.

To make matters worse, her territorial feelings had blown all out of proportion. She didn’t know when the shift had occurred. At the beginning the attention he drew amused her, then, little by little, it had started pissing her off. Now? Now it got her raving mad. She was jealous and afraid of losing him. Losing him, as if she could lose something she’d never had in the first place. Jeez.

They just spent too much time together. That was the core of the problem. Yesterday for example: In the morning they’d gone to see the play that the local amateur theater group had put on to celebrate the 200th birthday of Alden. Then there had been the potluck at the church. In the evening he’d brought food to her place and they spent a quiet night in discussing her plans for the library and watching old reruns on TV. Then he’d taken her to bed and fucked her senseless, after which they’d fallen asleep together.

Now they were at the fairground, where they’d spent the whole afternoon going through the tents, checking out the crafts, and playing the games. He’d danced with her, ridden with her on the rides—although rather reluctantly—and even taught her how to shoot.

Faked dates? Yeah right. Tell that to her overly imaginative mind.

She’d known since that day in the supermarket what had to be done, but she hadn’t wanted to do it. Now she’d run out of time.

“Something wrong, Christy?” he asked as they walked to the car on their way back home. “You’ve been quieter than normal.”

Yes, something was wrong. She had feelings for him. Boy, was he going to freak when she told him.

“We need to stop seeing each other. No more fake dates.”

“What? Why?”

She cleared her throat. Time to soldier on. “I can’t keep up my part of the bargain, Cole. I’m starting to get attached to you.”

Starting to? Try again, sister.

“I have feelings for you.”

He froze. Before the blank mask slipped on, she could have sworn she saw a flash of panic in his eyes. “Christy, we agreed—”

She interrupted him, feeling bullied and foolish at the same time. “I know what we agreed. But I can’t help the way I feel. Us pretending to be a couple is playing tricks on my mind. I want the real deal. The whole package. I guess I’m still searching for love after all.”

At the word
love
, he blanched. “I…fuck, Christy.”

Christy steadied herself, swallowing around the big lump in her throat. Man up. He hadn’t promised to give any more than what he’d given.

“It’s okay, Cole. I know the whole package is not what you want, or what you signed up for. We’re cool, really. I’m a big girl. I can handle rejection. Besides, I haven’t fallen head over heels in love with you. I’m just getting attached to having you in my life and thinking of you as more than a booty call. That’s why we need to stop seeing each other.”

Face tense, he ran his hand through his hair. “I like what we have going on. I don’t want to change anything. Can’t we just keep things the way they are now?”

It was so tempting to do as he said, but she shook her head. “No. Sooner or later, probably much sooner than later if we keep seeing each other every day, I’ll want more. Commitment. A real relationship. Strings. Lots of them. Are you ready to give me those? Or to even consider giving them to me in the near future?”

He didn’t say anything. The vein at his temple pulsed. His jaw bunched.

Yep, there was her answer. No biggie; she’d guessed that much. He didn’t want a relationship, and she wasn’t going to pressure or guilt-trip him into one.

“We can continue to have sex if you want, but we won’t be going out socially. No more social events or private ones. No more barbecues. No more going out to dinner or dancing. No more staying overnight either.” That had to go too. Some self-preservation had to kick in or she was going down. More than she was already.

He stared into the void in front of him.

She cleared her throat. “Just sex, those are the new terms,” she stated, her voice thick with a security she didn’t feel. “And we’re going back to using condoms.” Not that she wanted to have sex with someone else, but having sex bareback was a level of intimacy and commitment that wasn’t in accordance with what they had.

His gaze drilled into her. “I’m not fucking anybody else.”

“Glad to hear it, but still.” That could change in the blink of an eye. They weren’t a real couple, so she couldn’t risk it. She didn’t understand how she’d allowed it in the first place. “Who knows what you’ll be doing tomorrow? Or who. You can date whoever you want. And I can too,” she felt compelled to add just to spite him. As if getting one over on him would make her feel better.

His eyes flared bright with something akin to fury.

“You telling me you’re going to be fucking other guys?”

No, she wasn’t. Not that it was any of his business.

She shrugged. “You can’t expect exclusivity when you don’t want the whole package.”

“The hell I can’t,” he said, his voice dangerously low, his eyes ablaze. There was something unnerving about watching Cole lose his cool. And he was losing it.

“You can’t. Or what, are you ready to offer me something more than hot sex and fake dates?”

“You’re saying it as if the hot sex and the fake dates were such a bad thing,” he replied. “Fuck, Christy, we’ve been enjoying ourselves without the pressure. Without the bullshit. What’s so wrong about leaving things as they stand now?”

She wasn’t going to explain it to him again.

“Why do women have to go complicating everything? Changing the rules and asking for more? I like the way my life is, and I don’t want anyone trying to change it.”

Arrogant prick.

“You’re mistaken. I’m not trying to change your life, and I’m not asking for more, Cole. I’m actually asking for less. Just sex. Take it or leave it.”

The truck roared to life.

“Where are we g—”

“To fuck,” he said in a dangerously low voice. “That’s what you want, right?”

And fuck they did. Well, he did. Fuck her. Repeatedly.

Afterward he got up, got dressed, and left without uttering a word. As she watched him leave, her throat clutched, but she couldn’t get herself to stop him. This wasn’t what she wanted, but he hadn’t given her too many options. He didn’t want a relationship.

Once alone, she took a deep breath. She would just have to get used to the new state of affairs. Besides, in the long run it was better this way. Safer. But why did it feel so wrong?

* * * *

Cole got off the treadmill. Not voluntarily, but the damn machine was so hot it was going to explode if he kept going at it at that speed. He needed something less high-tech and more old school. The punching bag. That at least wouldn’t die on him anytime soon.

Someone greeted him, but he didn’t even lift his head, just grunted back.

He was in a foul mood and had been for days. Since Christy had “dumped” him actually. Not that she’d severed all contact, but he didn’t get to see her as often as before. He didn’t get to go out with her, or talk to her whenever he wanted. Or have breakfast with her. He snorted, annoyed with himself. He was a fucking moron. Missing the crappy breakfasts he used to have at her place. The sugar-free yogurt, the no-coffee zone. Not to mention the diet sodas, the cherry lollipops, and the headache-inducing gangsta rap.

He didn’t miss the sex because they were still fucking, a lot, but it felt different. Not bad, of course—sex with Christy was always mind-blowing, that hadn’t changed. But something was wrong. He needed…more, like the connection and intimacy they’d shared before. He wanted to sleep with her in his arms and wake up to her soft, sleep-rumpled body against his. He craved her company. Her sweetness. The way she made him laugh. Hell, the way she picked on him too.

For the first time in his life sex wasn’t enough. And he didn’t like it one damn bit.

But she’d laid down the law: no more socializing, no more spending time together, no more staying over. Just fucking. And with condoms at that.

Those damn rubbers were nothing but an unnatural barrier she was erecting between them, and he fucking hated it. But it was her show, and if she wanted to use condoms, he wouldn’t ask her not to. It would be stupid to—suicidal really. They could both see whomever they wanted, in theory of course. His cock was as interested in nailing other women as in spending quality time in a rattlesnake nest, not to mention that the mere thought of her with someone else had him seeing red. But again, he didn’t have the right to demand anything. They weren’t dating, not even pretending to. So he’d sheathed himself and been trying to fuck her with the same detachment he’d achieved with other girls in the past: no kissing, no cuddling, just hard-core fucking. Keeping his distance.

Jesus, it was difficult. He couldn’t pull it off.

He fought it, but he found himself reaching for her during sex many times, needing to caress her. To kiss her.

Man, was he fucked. He did have feelings for her. He didn’t want to, but he did, and no amount of bullshitting himself and denying it was going to change that. What the hell was he going to do about it? He sure as shit couldn’t afford the luxury of giving in to his feelings. It’d take what little power he had left, and he wasn’t ready to head down that road. Having the upper hand in any given situation was a basic requisite, an imperative. Without that power, he was at others’ mercy, at their whims, and that was not acceptable.

He should count his blessings he’d skirted disaster on that one, that she had the presence of mind to put a halt to things before sinking deeper into relationship quicksand. He was lucky, really.

Yeah, well, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he didn’t feel lucky; he felt fucking miserable. Out of control. Raw, on edge. His detachment a distant thing of the past. Wanting things he shouldn’t want. His muscles literally itching with the need to hold her.

He punished the punching bag some more, sweat pouring off him. Diving into physical exertion always worked for him. Not now. Hours exercising and he was still as pissed as hell. He wasn’t clear yet if he was pissed at himself or at her. Hell, at both probably. At her for changing the rules, and at himself for not being able to not give a damn.

The good thing about snapping at everyone and growling all the time was that not a single woman had dared to come close. It looked like going feral had been the solution to the problem all along, since even Rose had toned down her act. It was funny because this gruff, harsh man with the rough edges was the real Cole. The motherfucker who was difficult to live with, the uncompromising control freak. Christy wasn’t afraid of him. She could handle him. She just chose not to.

A part of him insisted this was what he’d wanted all along—sex and no emotional entanglements. Another part of him, a very big one, wanted to go to her. Give her all the promises and reassurances she needed. Bury himself deep in her and stay there, her soft body soothing him. Forever.

Right. He’d better continue killing the punching bag. If he was dead from exertion, he couldn’t make an ass of himself and go begging her for God only knew what.

“You look like you’ve been at this all day.”