Chapter 8 - Terms

Menzi shoved a hand through his hair and exhaled harshly. "You don't mean that."

I was suddenly very tired, exhausted from fighting with myself over him. "I really do. You and me … it was a mistake."

His jaw tightened. "It wasn't. The way I handled it afterwards was the mistake."

I stared at him, startled by the fierceness of the denial. "I wasn't talking about the sex, Menzi. I'm talking about my agreeing to this mad strangers-with-benefits deal between us. I knew it was all wrong from the beginning. I should've listened to my instincts."

"Do you want to be with me, Aviwe?"

"No. That's what—"

"Not the way we discussed it at the bar. More than that."

My heart started to pound. "What are you talking about?"

"Everything." He left the bar and came closer. "I want to be with you."

"You didn't seem like you did on Saturday." My arms tightened around my middle.

"I was … reeling."

"So? I was too." His hands went to his hips. Then his arms crossed like mine. "Christ, Aviwe."

I watched him squirm and felt a flare of hope. "If that's all you've got, we're done."

"The hell we are."

"We've already hit a dead end if you're going to disappear into your own head every time we have sex."

He visibly struggled with what to say. "I'm used to having control. I need it. And you blew it all to hell in the car. I didn't handle that well."

"You think?"

"Aviwe." He came closer still. "I've never experienced anything like that. I didn't think it was possible for me to. Now that I have … I've got to have it. I've got to have you."