Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

45/

it’s time to face the music.

charlie

I wake up in an empty bed, in a darkened room. I don’t remember the curtains being closed last night, but they are now, and it’s perfectly cozy in here, and my goodness, these sheets are amazing.

Giving myself a few minutes to luxuriate in this gigantic bed and the fact that it smells like Rafael, I finally make the decision to get up. I quickly brush my teeth, throw my hair in a messy bun, and put my glasses on before grabbing a pair of socks from Raf’s drawer. I hate bare feet.

As I make my way down the stairs, I hear muffled talking and the front door closing. Just as I make it to the last step, Rafael turns around, a tray of drinks in his hand and a paper bag between his teeth. He does a slow perusal of my body from top to bottom, his mouth falling open and the paper bag crashing to the floor. I allow myself to do the same, starting at his bare feet, his absolutely pornographic gray sweatpants, his naked chest, and the thick, black-rimmed glasses on his face. All the man needs now is a backward baseball cap, and he’d be a romance reader’s wet dream.

My wet dream.

Well, too late for that, really.

I realize I’ve gotten caught up in my thoughts when he bends to retrieve the bag and sets it and the tray of drinks on the entryway table. “G-good morning,” he mutters, running a hand through his perfect waves. I’m still frozen on my spot. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to erase this image from my memory. Somebody take a bloody photo!

When he takes a step closer, I snap out of it, physically shaking my head to clear the lust-filled haze I’m in. “Gray sweats and glasses? Really? You didn’t have anything less slutty?” Apparently lust makes me say what I’m thinking, so that’s cool.

His answering grin makes my skin break out in goosebumps everywhere. “I could say the same about you, gata. Wearing my clothes and glasses? What’s next? You’re gonna read to me and play with my hair? Jesus, woman tone down the sex, would ya?” My face must show my confusion because he runs a hand down his face, muttering an apology. “I mean you’re incredibly sexy. This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. You, in my clothes, after waking up in my bed. And if this were a real-life fantasy playing out, you’d play with my hair while you read to me. After we’d had incredible, mutually mind-blowing sex, of course. Goddamnit, I’m gonna shut up now.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, “What the fuck was in those migraine meds?”

I pull my lips between my teeth to keep myself from smiling. His rambling soothes the nervousness I’d been feeling when I walked down here. “What have you got there?” I point to the tray of coffee and paper bag next to him.

“Oh, uh, I had breakfast delivered. I wasn’t sure if you’d want hot coffee or cold, so I got you both. And a tea. And Schmidt packed a bunch of stuff for us to eat. He said he made you a grilled cheese. Would you believe he wanted to come in here and give it to you himself?” He huffs out a laugh. “That fucking guy loves you.” I watch his throat bob as he swallows, looking down at his feet. “I would have made us something, but I haven’t been in the kitchen yet, and this just seemed safer.”

My stomach drops to my feet. Of course he didn’t go into the kitchen. For all he knows, it’s covered in the one food that could kill him. This moment of normalcy between us was lovely, but this is the reality. I fucked up. Badly. In the worst way.

Last night, he said he needed me because he was so high on whatever meds he was given, but now, it’s daylight. And the sun is shining brightly on the mistake I made. The one that will probably cost me any chance of being friends or anything else with the one person outside of my sister and best friend who actually gets me.

It’s time to face the music.

46/

i like messy. you’ve seen my trunk.

rafael

When I look up, Charlie’s eyes are watery, and her lips are trembling, the corners pulling down into the saddest, cutest frown I’ve ever seen. God, I want to keep her and never let her go. And the sight of a single tear rolling down her cheek has me nearly falling to my knees.

Before I can rush to her and pull her into me, she raises both hands and takes a step back, the backs of her ankles hitting the bottom step of the staircase. “I-I-I-I’m s-so s-s-s-sorry. I-I didn’t m-mean to. I’m—” She’s shaking now, and I can’t keep my hands to myself any longer. I hug her tightly, her arms trapped between us, hands resting on my chest.

The sobbing wracks her body as I try to pull her closer. “Charlie, no, of course you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault.” I feel my own tears gather, but they don’t fall.

She yanks herself away from me, taking several steps away. “Yes, it was!” she practically screams. “It was all my fault. All of this.” She waves her arms in the air before curling in on herself. Her voice lowers as more tears roll down her face. “I made this huge mess, and now I have to live with it.”

“No.” I keep my tone even. “I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt me. I trust that. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.” A quiet sob leaves her as she starts pacing, hitting her forehead with the heel of her hand.

“Too bad. I do anyway.” I take two steps closer, and she doesn’t back away. “Whatever mess you think you’ve made, I want it. I like messy. You’ve seen my trunk.” I take another step, and this time, her sob is a half-laugh.

She’s still pacing back and forth, so I gently take her hand and place it on my chest. I inhale and hold my breath, then inhale again, fully filling my lungs, and then I blow out my breath through my mouth. She catches on and does the next cycle with me. We repeat this several more times, and I take her face in my hands, wiping away the tears that have stopped flowing. I hug her again, holding on to her tightly, letting the embrace settle both of us.

After a while, she sniffles, keeping her eyes down. “Do you think you can forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive, pumpkin.” I kiss her forehead, hoping she can let this go and let me in.

“I’m asking you to. Please. Or this guilt will?—”