Read Online It's Like This by Anne O'Gleadra - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne O'Gleadra
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I don’t really want to. He runs a hand over the back of my head, and kisses my temple before pulling me down, half on top of him, on the couch.
“The movie’s your choice tonight, Miss Attila,” he says, sprawling out behind me on the couch. Matilda shuffles through some DVDs.
“Any suggestions?” she asks.
“Something that doesn’t require us to think,” he answers. His arms snakes around my abs, pulling me back into him. He kisses the back of my neck quickly. “You OK, liebling?” he whispers—another remnant from his high school German endeavour. He doesn’t call me it hardly ever, though. I nod. I’m OK enough. He exhales into my hair, and then shifts himself a little bit higher so that he can see the screen. I’m a mess and I’m exhausted and all I can feel is Rylan, steady and warm behind me.
My phone rings. I don’t respond, so Rylan reaches into my pocket and takes it out and answers it.
“Hey, Shona,” he says quietly.
“So, you’re not Niles,” I hear her reply.
“You wanna talk?” he asks me. I shake my head. I do not have that kind of energy.
“He’s OK,” Rylan tells her, “but he’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”
“He’s right there next to you, isn’t he?” Shona accuses.
“Yep.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to interfere with your spoon sesh,” Shona resigns, peaceably.
“You’re a peach.”
“Give him a kiss for me, yeah?”
Rylan kisses my ear. “Done.”
“Thanks. LOVE YOU, NILES,” Shona half-yells.
Rylan holds the phone to my mouth. “Love you,” I reply.
“Night, Shona,” Ry says, bringing the phone back to his ear.
“Night, Rylan. Take good care of our boy, you get me?”
“I gotcha,” Rylan answers. He ends the call and slides my phone back into my pocket, absently rubbing circles over my side and abdomen with his palm until I’m as good as asleep.
Even though it’s not (even close), he does a pretty damn good job of convincing me everything’s OK.
* * *
We stay awake hiding in the TV until I’m headachey with exhaustion.
“C’mon,” says Rylan, finally. He worms his way out from behind me and flicks off the TV and stands over me, waiting. He offers his hands and I take them, letting him pull me up until we’re level. I don’t feel entirely planted because for a minute we’re just standing there, like, holding hands and looking at each other and I don’t think we’ve ever done that before and so I don’t think I know how. Rylan seems to, though, and he smiles softly, squeezes my hands and gently bumps our fists up against my thighs and kisses me. Lightly, ridiculously lightly, before releasing one of my hands and pulling me along upstairs to my old room, where I strip off my jeans and shirt, brush my teeth. He waits patiently for my toothbrush, and when I’m done I hand it to him and go and sit on the side of the bed. I watch him floss in the bathroom across the hall.
When Rylan returns to the bedroom he starts undressing, unself-consciously. He foots the door closed and sits beside me and I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do. We spent a million hours together in this bed in high school: skipped periods and late nights and Saturday afternoons, like we could never get enough. I guess we couldn’t, because we’re still doing that. It’s just…him and me and this bed only ever equate to sex.
Exhaustion wins and I crawl gracelessly under the quilt and top sheet and curl in on myself. Rylan follows suit, sliding up behind me and slipping his arm underneath mine and pressing his palm to my chest. I exhale a long, shaky breath.
“What are you doing?” he asks me, and I know he’s really asking what’s wrong, but that’s too deep a territory with us. I lean helplessly back into him, knowing I shouldn’t, knowing stuff isn’t sorted and we’re not OK like we’re pretending. Rylan nuzzles the side of my face with his, the roughness of his stubble familiar and soothing.
He squeezes my body tighter
“The movie’s your choice tonight, Miss Attila,” he says, sprawling out behind me on the couch. Matilda shuffles through some DVDs.
“Any suggestions?” she asks.
“Something that doesn’t require us to think,” he answers. His arms snakes around my abs, pulling me back into him. He kisses the back of my neck quickly. “You OK, liebling?” he whispers—another remnant from his high school German endeavour. He doesn’t call me it hardly ever, though. I nod. I’m OK enough. He exhales into my hair, and then shifts himself a little bit higher so that he can see the screen. I’m a mess and I’m exhausted and all I can feel is Rylan, steady and warm behind me.
My phone rings. I don’t respond, so Rylan reaches into my pocket and takes it out and answers it.
“Hey, Shona,” he says quietly.
“So, you’re not Niles,” I hear her reply.
“You wanna talk?” he asks me. I shake my head. I do not have that kind of energy.
“He’s OK,” Rylan tells her, “but he’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”
“He’s right there next to you, isn’t he?” Shona accuses.
“Yep.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to interfere with your spoon sesh,” Shona resigns, peaceably.
“You’re a peach.”
“Give him a kiss for me, yeah?”
Rylan kisses my ear. “Done.”
“Thanks. LOVE YOU, NILES,” Shona half-yells.
Rylan holds the phone to my mouth. “Love you,” I reply.
“Night, Shona,” Ry says, bringing the phone back to his ear.
“Night, Rylan. Take good care of our boy, you get me?”
“I gotcha,” Rylan answers. He ends the call and slides my phone back into my pocket, absently rubbing circles over my side and abdomen with his palm until I’m as good as asleep.
Even though it’s not (even close), he does a pretty damn good job of convincing me everything’s OK.
* * *
We stay awake hiding in the TV until I’m headachey with exhaustion.
“C’mon,” says Rylan, finally. He worms his way out from behind me and flicks off the TV and stands over me, waiting. He offers his hands and I take them, letting him pull me up until we’re level. I don’t feel entirely planted because for a minute we’re just standing there, like, holding hands and looking at each other and I don’t think we’ve ever done that before and so I don’t think I know how. Rylan seems to, though, and he smiles softly, squeezes my hands and gently bumps our fists up against my thighs and kisses me. Lightly, ridiculously lightly, before releasing one of my hands and pulling me along upstairs to my old room, where I strip off my jeans and shirt, brush my teeth. He waits patiently for my toothbrush, and when I’m done I hand it to him and go and sit on the side of the bed. I watch him floss in the bathroom across the hall.
When Rylan returns to the bedroom he starts undressing, unself-consciously. He foots the door closed and sits beside me and I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do. We spent a million hours together in this bed in high school: skipped periods and late nights and Saturday afternoons, like we could never get enough. I guess we couldn’t, because we’re still doing that. It’s just…him and me and this bed only ever equate to sex.
Exhaustion wins and I crawl gracelessly under the quilt and top sheet and curl in on myself. Rylan follows suit, sliding up behind me and slipping his arm underneath mine and pressing his palm to my chest. I exhale a long, shaky breath.
“What are you doing?” he asks me, and I know he’s really asking what’s wrong, but that’s too deep a territory with us. I lean helplessly back into him, knowing I shouldn’t, knowing stuff isn’t sorted and we’re not OK like we’re pretending. Rylan nuzzles the side of my face with his, the roughness of his stubble familiar and soothing.
He squeezes my body tighter
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