Aftertaste, noun
Af·ter·taste
: persistence of a sensation (as of flavor or an emotion) after the stimulating agent or experience has gone
There was once a time she was running away from her life, from people, from everything and everyone; running a...
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Alexander leans against the backrest, refusing to sit down. "Are you going to break up with me? Because I ain't having that," he says defiantly.
I recoil. "I'm not breaking up with you!" I exclaim, louder than I wanted to.
Alexander takes a seat. "Alright. Then we can talk, sure."
I'm still recovering from him thinking I'm going to break up with him just because of this. The thought hasn't even crossed my mind and he threw me off guard here a little. "Okay, so I was thinking," I start and Alexander gets that look on the face that tells me he really hates it when I start my sentences like that. Well, suck it up, tough boy!
"You should start racing again if that's your wish."
Alexander leans back on the chair, letting out a long exhale. "No," he says.
My eyebrows knit together. "No?"
He watches me carefully. "Say I do go back to racing. What does that mean for us?"
I shrug. "Nothing." Except telling my inner peace goodbye. "I'm not going to give you an ultimatum and make you choose between me and the racing. That would be completely unfair of me to ask. I know if I wanted to do something, you wouldn't stand in my way, either."
Alexander gives me that infamous half-smile of his. "Gabrielle, baby, who are you fooling? I mentioned the racing this morning to you and it made you not talk to me for the whole damn day. If I started with it again, it'd drive you away. And if I have to pick between you two, I'm choosing you, with no doubt and regret. Because I want you more than racing. Got that?"
"But –"
"No," he cuts me off. "We're ending this subject and we're not talking about it again. Now get over here, sit on my lap and show me how much you missed me."
"But I feel like we should –" I protest, but I don't get anywhere.
"Gabrielle. Come. Here. Now."
We have a staredown until I finally release the cup of my untouched tea and go over to him, sitting on his lap with my legs on either side of him.
Alexander cups my face with his hands, looking deep into my eyes. "We ain't gonna argue again."
"We weren't–"
"Gabrielle."
"Yes, babe, I promise we will never ever disagree on something again until we die."
He grins, pecking my lips softly a few times before he kisses me, his hands wrapped in my hair, holding my head in place so he can get his way with my mouth. "You smart-ass," he says against my mouth before kissing me once again.
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Going to the parties always makes me frustrated because I never know what to wear. I don't own clothes that are suitable for the parties. I have normal jeans, T-shirts that cover everything they need to and normal, boring shoes. I don't own mini leather skirts, crop tops and high-heeled boots.
