Read Online Love to Love Her YAC by Renae Kelleigh - Free Book Online

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couple of inches from his, and he stretches his arm across the back
of the couch again, allowing his fingers to dangle off and dust the
top of my shoulder this time. I breathe in and out slowly and
deeply, hyper aware of our posturing and our proximity to one
another. I want to snuggle closer, but for some nonsensical reason
I would prefer for him to be the one to draw me nearer. Instead I
go for subtle…I turn my head slightly, allowing my hair to tickle
his arm and lay my hand in the gap between our legs so that it’s
just barely touching his leg through his jeans. He lets out a
halting breath and begins lightly drawing circles on my shoulder
with his finger. The electricity from his touch pierces through
me.
    We watch two episodes of “The Daily Show”
this way, rearranging our body parts in painstakingly minute
increments as if we’re moving in slow motion. At the end of the
hour I’m dismayed to find that I’m plastered up against Blake’s
side, unable to remember quite how I got here. Meanwhile, his
fingers grip the top of my arm like he’s holding on to me for dear
life.
    I let the closing credits play out before I
make a move to power off the television. I’m no longer interested
in watching anything other than the gorgeous man sitting next to
me. Which is why, when I turn to face that man, I’m rather put off
by the now-familiar look of anguish in his bright green eyes. As I
study him, his newly shaved jawline and perfect pouty lips and long
black eyelashes, the look transforms into one of entreaty.
    Suddenly Blake stands up. He clears his
throat and pushes a hand through his hair, scraping it away from
his face. He looks everywhere except at me. Now I’m beginning to
get nervous.
    Thinking I may as well just put us both out
of our misery I say, “There was something you wanted to talk to me
about?” I give him a small smile that I hope comes across as
encouraging. He turns, searching, and when his eyes land on the
wingback chair turned at a right angle to the sofa he drops into
it.
    “There really isn’t any good way to say
this,” he begins quietly, almost as if he’s talking more to himself
than me. He looks up, and I can see the effort it takes for him to
continue holding my gaze with his own.
    “Rhiannon,” he begins. He pauses, his eyes
roaming my face and then my body, which is now curled in on itself,
shielding me from the blast that now seems imminent.
    “Rhiannon,” he starts again. “I…I have…um, a
girlfriend.” He says it so softly I can’t be sure I heard him
correctly, but putting two and two together I think I probably did.
“I have a girlfriend,” he says, this time with slightly more
conviction. “Her name is Jordan.”
    I can feel my expression crumbling along with
my good spirits, despite my redoubled efforts to keep my face from
betraying the raw emotion that consumes me. I don’t say anything,
too afraid the dams will open and my voice will break, so
apparently Blake feels the need to fill the silence with more
needless explanations.
    “She isn’t here. She lives in California
actually, in Sacramento. That’s where I’m from – I don’t think I
told you that.” When I still don’t say anything he bows his head
and holds it in his hands, his fingers flexing against his skull.
As much as I don’t want to care, I hate to see his obvious
suffering. I hate the fact that a part of me is moved to comfort
him in some way. Somehow I fight the urge.
    “Is it serious?” I ask quietly, then quickly
change my mind – I don’t think I want to know the answer to that
particular question. “How long have you been together?” I amend,
diverting the course of the conversation to topics that may be slightly less painful.
    “Six years,” he says without looking up. “Off
and on” – an afterthought. Ouch . So much for less
painful.
    “That’s a long time,” I observe, mostly for
lack of something better to say.
    “I’m so, so sorry,” he says. “I never