The Mighty Fall In Love

Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Hi,” Pete answers coolly, twisting to face me.

He lays on the bed, sprawled out comfortably, the TV on and muted, the rest of the room dark.

I step in and let the door shut behind me, still in shock, and flick on the lights beside me to shed some light on the situation.

Pete looks a little nervous as he sits up, pulling his legs off the bed and throwing them onto the floor. His fingers tap idly on his thigh, our gaze locked on one another.

I don’t know if this is really happening.

Thoughts swirl around my brain fast, questions pooling in my mind.

Has he come to apologize? Has he come to say he chooses me? That he loves me enough to stay?

We stare at each other for a few more moments, presumably both trying to get our bearing.

Pete looks uneasy yet almost hopeful. There’s a little sparkle in his eyes, but suddenly it’s gone. His soft features harden as he stands.

“I know that look…” he whispers, eyes locked on mine, glazing over.

“What?” I ask, confused.

I take a cautious step towards him. I fight the urge to run the short few steps that separate us and wrap my arms around him and tell him how much I’ve missed him. I know I can’t, though. I have to play it cool.

Pete now looks hurt and shakes his head.

“Where were you?” he asks, ignoring my question.

“Nowhere…” I lie.

I feel a pit of worry form deep in my stomach.

No, he just came back, he can’t want to leave me already…

“You think I’m an idiot?” he spits. “I'm not genius, but I’m not that oblivious. Where were you?”

“Oblivious to what?” I ask.

I feel heat creeping up my cheeks and my heart races faster.

“The red in your cheeks and the look on your face,” Pete hisses. “The way your clothes are all distraught and the sweat on your skin. The way your hair is messy and how your lips are red and swollen. Your air of guiltiness. You’ve been fucking.”

He states all of this as facts, not questions.

“I’ve fucked you, remember? I know how you look when you get hot,” he crosses his arms across his chest and takes in a shaky breath. “Fuck, Patrick, are you joking me?”

“I didn’t – it’s not what you think,” I stutter.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Pete screams. “Who the fuck was it? Picked up some chick on the way up?”

He’s jealous, I realize. More jealous than mad, at least. That has to be something.

I could lie; say I made out with a maid or something equally obscure. Maybe then we could just kiss and make up, have some rough make up sex and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

An easy excuse, but I know I can’t lie to Pete.

He taps his foot impatiently as I take another step closer, trying to find the right words to explain myself. I’m two steps away from him.

“It was just making out,” I start. “It meant nothing. I only got hard when I thought about you. I kept comparing him to you, and he could never even begin –“