Chapter 20: Let’s go
The truck’s engine was a low growl in the quiet residential street, cutting to silence as Joe turned the key. The sudden absence of sound felt louder than noise. Svet’s heart was still hammering from the kiss, from the way he’d walked away from Chloe without a backward glance.
She fumbled for her door handle, but he was already there, opening it for her. His hand found hers in the dark, his grip certain, and he led her not toward the front path but pressed her gently back against the cool metal of the truck’s passenger door. The street was empty, pools of yellow light from the streetlamps creating islands of privacy.
He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, his eyes tracing the lines of her face in the dim light. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, still tender from the bar. The possessiveness from the parking lot had melted into something hotter, more urgent.
“Inside,” Svet whispered, her voice unsteady.
He nodded once, a sharp movement, and let her lead the way up the cracked walkway to her ground-floor apartment. Her fingers trembled as she fought with the lock. He stood close behind her, a solid wall of heat, his breath stirring the hairs at the nape of her neck. The door finally gave. They stumbled into the dark living room, a tangle of limbs and quiet, desperate sounds.
He kicked the door shut with his heel. The click of the deadbolt engaging was final. His hands were everywhere—cupping her face, sliding down her back to pull her hips flush against his. She could feel the hard ridge of his arousal through his jeans, a promise that made her knees weak. She tore at the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward, needing to feel his skin under her palms.
He broke the kiss, panting. “Bedroom,” he managed, the word rough.
“Yeah,” she breathed, pulling him by the hand down the short hallway. Her room was bathed in the cool blue light filtering through the blinds, casting the familiar mess of clothes and textbooks into strange shapes. They didn’t make it to the bed. He backed her against the wall just inside the doorway, his mouth finding hers again with a hunger that mirrored her own. His hands slid under her top, warm and wide against the small of her back.
“Joe,” she gasped, arching into him.
He made a low sound in his throat, a vibration she felt through her whole body. His lips trailed down her jaw, her throat, each kiss a brand. He was everywhere, his size enveloping her, and instead of feeling small, she felt anchored. Wanted. Consumed.
Then, the jangle of keys at the front door.
They froze.
The distinct, clumsy sound of the lock turning, the door swinging open with a squeak, and Alexa’s bubbly, carrying voice sliced through the haze.
“Hellooo? Svet? You guys here? I brought leftover mozzarella sticks!”
Joe dropped his forehead against Svet’s shoulder with a soft, defeated thud. A frustrated laugh hissed out of him. Svet felt a wave of pure, juvenile irritation. Of course.
“Fuck,” she whispered, the heat in her veins rapidly cooling into an annoyed throb.
“Svet? Joe?” Alexa’s footsteps padded into the living room. “Ooh, dark. Mood lighting. I respect it.”
Joe pushed back from the wall, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. He looked at Svet, his eyes dark and still heavy with wanting, but his mouth quirked into a resigned half-smile. “Mozzarella sticks,” he said, his voice a gravelly whisper.
“I’m going to kill her,” Svet murmured, but there was no real venom in it.
He leaned in and kissed her, slow and deep, a lingering promise of later. It took the sharp edge off her frustration. “C’mon,” he said, taking her hand.
They found Alexa in the kitchen, already rummaging in the fridge for a drink. She popped her head out, a grin splitting her face. “There you are! I figured you’d be… busy. But the cheese waits for no one.” She held up the greasy paper box.
“You have the worst timing in the history of the world,” Svet said, grabbing a can of soda from the fridge.
“I’m a disruptor,” Alexa said, unrepentant. She looked at her brother, who was leaning against the doorframe, filling it completely. “You look… rumpled. Mission accomplished?”
“Lex,” Joe warned, but he was smiling.
Alexa laughed, tossing a mozzarella stick at him. He caught it one-handed. “Fine, fine. I’ll be in my room. With my headphones on. Loudly.” She winked at Svet and skipped off down the hall. A moment later, the thump of bass seeped through her door.
The silence she left behind was different now. The frantic urgency was gone, replaced by a simmering, patient heat. Joe finished the mozzarella stick and walked over to Svet. He didn’t pull her back to the bedroom. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on top of her head. They just stood there in the fluorescent glow of the kitchen light, holding onto each other.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice a rumble in his chest against her back.
“Yeah,” she said, leaning into him. She was. The interruption was a splash of cold reality, but his arms around her felt like the only reality that mattered.
They migrated to the couch. He sat, and she settled between his legs, her back against his chest. He found an old action movie on TV, the volume low. His attention wasn’t on the screen. One hand splayed low on her stomach, holding her to him. The other played with her hair, his fingers gently tracing the shell of her ear, the line of her jaw. Every touch was deliberate, lingering. A finger stroking up and down her forearm. His lips pressing softly to the side of her neck when he shifted.
He was glued to her. Not in a suffocating way, but in a way that felt like a constant, quiet declaration. I’m here. I’m with you. It was a language of touch she was starting to understand better than words.
During a loud explosion on screen, he turned her face toward his and kissed her, slow and sweet. It tasted like fried cheese and soda and him. It was a kiss that said, I’m not going anywhere.
Later, when the credits rolled, he just looked at her. “Stay out here with me?”
She nodded. He stretched out on the couch, a tight fit, and pulled her down to lie facing him, their bodies curved together in the limited space. Her head was on his arm, her face buried in the soft cotton over his chest. His other hand drew slow, absent circles on her hip.
She could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart under her cheek. His breathing deepened, evening out into sleep. The trust in that—him sleeping so easily with her in his arms—pulled at something deep and frightened inside her.
She lay awake, listening to him breathe. The old fears whispered, dusty and familiar in the corners of her mind. It’s too fast. You’ll get hurt. He’ll get bored. But every time they started, his hand would tighten minutely on her hip in his sleep, or he’d nuzzle unconsciously into her hair.
The word hung in the air between them, unsaid by her, felt in every touch from him. It was in the patient way he’d taken her to bed the first time. It was in the way he’d walked away from Chloe. It was in the circles his thumb was drawing on her skin right now.
She pressed closer, inhaling the clean, warm scent of him. The apartment was quiet, save for Alexa’s muted music and Joe’s deep, even breaths. The want from earlier was still there, a low hum under her skin, but it had transformed. It was broader, deeper. It wasn’t just a need for his body anymore. It was a need for this. For the safety of his sleep-slack embrace, for the quiet monopoly of his attention, for the way he made her cynicism feel like a worn-out coat she didn’t need to wear inside.
She watched the play of blue light from the silent TV across his face, softening the strong lines. He was beautiful. And for tonight, he was hers.
The terrifying, exhilarating thought followed her down into sleep: she wanted every night to end like this.
She woke to the gray light of morning and the solid weight of his arm across her waist. His breathing was a deep, steady rhythm against her back. The couch was cramped, her neck was stiff, and one of his legs was pinned awkwardly beneath hers. It was the most comfortable she’d ever been.
She lay perfectly still, afraid to break the spell. His fingers curled gently against her stomach in his sleep. The word from last night, the one that had terrified her into silence, wasn’t so scary now. It felt like a fact, settling into her bones alongside the memory of his patience, his humor, the way he’d simply removed them from Chloe’s orbit. It was in the proof of him, here, choosing her messy apartment and a too-small couch.
Love.
She loved the giant, soft-spoken man draped around her. The realization was quiet, absolute. It didn’t feel like fireworks. It felt like a key turning in a long-locked door.
She shifted minutely, and his arm tightened, pulling her closer. A sleepy mumble vibrated against her shoulder blade. “S’early.”
“Go back to sleep,” she whispered.
He didn’t. Instead, he nudged her hair aside with his nose and pressed a warm, closed-mouth kiss to the nape of her neck. A simple, possessive gesture that sent a shiver through her. His hand slid up, not to grope, but to rest flat over her heart. He could probably feel it pounding.
They stayed like that until the room brightened. Finally, with a sigh, he stretched, his joints popping. “I should go,” he murmured into her hair. “Have to lift at nine.”
“Okay.” She rolled to face him. His brown eyes were soft with sleep, his hair sticking up. He looked young.
He kissed her forehead, then her mouth, slow and lingering. “Tonight? My place. I’ll cook. Something that isn’t bar food.”
“You can cook?”
“I can grill a steak,” he said, a smile touching his lips. “And microwave broccoli. It’s a sophisticated menu.”
She laughed. “Sounds perfect.”
Getting up was a logistical puzzle of untangling limbs. He used her shower, emerging with a towel around his waist, smelling of her citrus body wash. He dressed in yesterday’s clothes, looking oddly vulnerable as he pulled his shirt over his damp hair.
She walked him to the door. The morning sun was harsh on the cracked pavement. He turned, framing her face with his hands. His thumbs swept over her cheekbones.
“Last night,” he started, his voice low. “With Chloe. That’s not… that’s not my life. Not anymore.”
“I know,” she said, and she did. The way he’d walked away said everything.
He searched her eyes, and she saw it there. He knew. He could see the realization that had bloomed in her overnight, the fear that kept her voice locked around it. A quiet understanding passed between them, clearer than any declaration.
He didn’t push. He just kissed her, soft and deep, a seal on the unspoken.
“See you tonight,” he said, pulling away.
She watched him fold himself into the truck, a massive figure in the quiet suburban morning. He gave her a small wave before backing out. She closed the door and leaned against it, the cool wood pressing into her back.
The apartment felt too large, too silent. She could still smell him on her skin, on the couch cushions. Love. It thrummed inside her, a live wire. She wanted to shout it. She wanted to bury it forever.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. A text from him, just a heart emoji. No pressure. Just a reminder.
She smiled, pressing the phone to her chest. She held the word inside, a secret warmth, both a terror and a comfort. He knew. For now, that was enough. It had to be.