Chapter 23

In the awkward silence that fills the room after his declaration that I’m his gravity, or destiny, or fated mate—I really don’t know what to call it, I finally get a bit of clarity. Every time I asked men while we were on a first date if they’d get tested to see if we were genetically compatible for having children, this is how they probably felt. Like I was getting ahead of myself.

Way fucking ahead of myself.

Like, they were just dipping their toes in the water of a new relationship and I was showing them different boats we could purchase together. For our retirement.

Now that I’m on the other end of it, I can say that I don’t care for it at all. I’m just trying to get a little hot, superhero action and he’s talking fate with me. We can’t even seem to get past today and he wants to talk about forever?

God, no wonder I never get a second date.

“So…?” Grant asks, trailing off and looking up at me with the sweetest, most vulnerable puppy dog smile.

“No.”

Grant recoils.

“I know that sounds harsh,” I say as gently as I can. “But no fucking way. I don’t believe in soul mates, obviously. I believe in sensible choices made with clear heads about future trajectories. No feeling, no pull, or attraction is going to decide what partner I have for the rest of my life.”

Grant brightens. “So you feel it too then?”

“No,” I say with the severity of falling bricks. “I mean, I’m attracted to you, but only in a regular ‘you’re-drop-dead-gorgeous’ kind of way.”

With a smile like a cat with a mouse, Grant sits down on the sofa beside me and slides a little closer. “You feel it too. This heat between us. This awareness of the other person. The rightness of being together, like you’re the Doctor and I’m your Companion.”

Doctor? Companion?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh man! It’s only the longest running show—actually, it’s quite fitting since the Doctor can time travel—”

I cut him off. “I mean about the feelings. We’re just two people with amazing sexual chemistry. That’s all. It’s something I wouldn’t be opposed to continuing to explore, but not if it’s going to mean something to you that it really shouldn’t.”

Grant, the walking six-pack of a man, once again looks crushed. He sits in his thoughts as I sit in an ever-increasing pool of guilt. Not that I should feel guilty. I have nothing to feel guilty about. I just told him the truth and stopped whatever delusion he was feeding himself.

There’s no point in letting him think this is going anywhere. In letting me think this is going somewhere. He might be infatuated with the idea of some comic book love connection, but that’s not what this is. That’s not who I am. I’m not the kind of person who people fall for. One day, I’m going to be the sensible choice for someone—someone who can put up with the human cactus that I am.

Until I find that person who’s willing to settle, I just have to steel myself for the constant pain of rejection that I’ve been numbing myself to. Indulging in this fate nonsense would be counterproductive to say the least. Although, perhaps devastating would be the more apt term.

Grant’s hand reaches out for mine and he laces his fingers between mine. He holds my hand, simply, steadily, and it grounds me back to myself.

“I know this is a lot,” Grant starts.

I keep holding his hand, but I stare daggers at him. “I have zero problem with a lot. This is not a lot. This is crazy.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” Grant says with a shrug.

“Don’t you mean to-may-to, to-mah-to?”

“I love how you just like to argue everything.” Grant smiles and squeezes my hand. He looks at me like he actually believes it’s adorable that I argue nearly as much as I breathe.

Like I said, this is crazy.

And it certainly can’t last.

“No, it’s really not,” I say, ignoring how Grant smiles even bigger because I guess I’m still arguing with him. “You only think you like how I argue everything because we just met and we got thrown into an adrenaline-fueled sexual frenzy. People, multiple people have told me that I’m an argumentative, pessimistic parasite that drains the life and fun out of everything.”

Grant chuckles like I’ve just made a great joke. Which, just proves at how little he knows me: I don’t make jokes.

“Good thing I’m chiller than Hoth in a cold snap then.”

“I’m not kidding,” I say, although he still looks on at me like I’m building to some sort of punchline. “Really. I once went out on a date with someone who said that going out with me was like being buried alive, except without the peace that comes from being in nature.”

Grant’s eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. “Please don’t tell me any personal information about that guy because there’s a good chance that I’ll kill him if I ever find out who he is.”

I know this sounds bad, but I shiver all over when he says that—and not in a ‘oh no, violence is bad’ sort of way. No, in a ‘I want him to say that as he pounds into me’ sort of way.

“Whatever happened to chill as a moth in a cold snap?” I cross my legs and squirm a little to alleviate some of the building pressure.

Immediately, Grant’s eyes soften. “Before the whole laser-thing, I wasn’t just aloof, I was the loof”—he pauses and laughs at his own joke. The dork—“but now, because of our connection, I’m a little bit intense when it comes to you. Hence the whole following you when you sneak into your office at night.”

“Define ‘a little intense’.”

Now it’s Grant’s turn to squirm. “I plead the fifth.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re Canadian.”

“I plead the fifth, eh?”

For a second, a smile threatens to make an appearance. Luckily, I stomp that nonsense down. And, by nonsense, I mean emotions. Obviously.

“I didn’t mention it earlier, but when the energy from the glowing thing went through me, it changed my body,” Grant says with a faraway look in his eyes. “I wasn’t buff before. Gun to my head, I wouldn’t even begin to know how to work out in a gym. The energy, though, it made me strong. It gave me muscles and broadened my shoulders. I think it even made me a touch taller—at least all my buddies have been teasing me about wearing lifts. And all that hurt. It felt exactly like how you would think ripping muscles and stretching bones would feel—except that it happened in under two minutes, so it was, uh, concentrated.”

There’s a faint shimmer of remembered pain behind his eyes that makes my blood boil. Thinking about him in any sort of pain makes me want to march down to Zagreus Hart and give him a piece of my mind. Or kick him in the balls. One of the two.

“And that,” Grant says, pointing a finger at me, “is kind of what I feel. The thought of you being hurt makes me a little…”

“Murderous?” I offer.

He smiles. “Is that what you’re feeling now? Murderous because I was in pain? That’s really sweet, Sunshine.”

“I’m not feeling murderous. Or anything. And I’m not sunshine.”

His smile only widens. “Whatever you say, Sunshine.”

I sigh. Right, he currently finds my arguing cute.

“I’m serious, Grant. I know this is all exciting because of the danger and I know it feels all fated because, for some reason, we’re the only two people aware of the time loop, but I’m not whoever you think I am. Give it time and you won’t find me cute or endearing.”

I know I sound like I’m deprecatingly depressed, but I’m not. I’m fine not being cute and endearing. Cute and endearing just aren’t me. Cute and endearing lead to being passed over for the good cases. Cute and endearing mean that you have to show up Beth’s lunch hour book club—Beth’s lunch hour potluck book club. No, I’ll take frigid and scary over cute and endearing any day.

Grant shrugs. “Between my transformation and you dying, I’ve been going through mental breakdowns like they’re cheap gum. It’s been a lot to take in, a lot to accept, except for what I feel for you. I don’t know how to explain it except to say that I like you. A lot. When I look at you, I see a puzzle piece with all these weird sticking out bits that fit perfectly into all my weird-shaped emptiness. We just fit. We work. That’s not something I question at all.”

“And that’s why we can’t be it for each other—I question absolutely everything. We’re just too different.”

“We’re perfectly different,” Grant amends with another slight squeeze of my hand. “I mean this in the nicest way, but if either of us dated someone similar to ourselves, we’d be fucked.”

I snort a laugh.

“Most couples look for compatibility.” I choose not to say that I read it Dr. Debbie’s Guide to Understanding Relationships. There was a whole chapter on how to find a suitable partner and the author explicitly said to look for someone similar to you.

“If I dated someone like me,” Grant says, taking his hand out of mine to wrap his arm around me. “We’d be so laid back that we’d probably never take our relationship beyond casual hangouts every other week.”

“If I dated someone like me,” I add. “We’d probably notarize a schedule for when we’d have sex.”

Grant throws his head back to laugh, pulling me in close against his side. Again, this only proves how little he knows me. I wasn’t joking. A lot of couples’ relationships suffer due to mismatched sexual expectations. This way, there’d be no surprises.

Once his laughter dies down, Grant still holds me close to his side. The thrum of his heart relaxes me in a way I can only feel with him.

“I don’t know how this is going to go, but I do know that it’s going to work. We are going to work.”

Even though I hate it, I pull away from him slightly. Immediately, I miss his warmth.

“I think we should just keep things casual while we figure this whole time loop thing out.” I hesitate. “We can still mess around, but maybe save the destiny talk for once we can actually experience the future.”

Grant pulls back more, far enough back to look in my eyes and nod seriously. Slowly, he runs his fingers through his hair.

“Respectfully, I think I’m going to do the opposite.”

For a second, his words don’t register. People don’t usually disagree with me. Certainly not to my face.

“You can’t just say you’re going to do the opposite.”

Grant smiles. “Sure. And, again, no offense, but for being the smartest person I know, you’re wrong pretty much all the time.”

“Pardon me?” I ask, my voice going impossibly high.

Who the hell is he to say that I’m wrong all the time? My win rate is well above statistical averages for environmental law. I was on the debate team in university. When I watch Jeopardy! on television, I keep track of my winnings and I do very well.

“Yeah,” Grant says, stretching out to put his feet up on his coffee table. “First you thought I was this suave superhero guy. Then, you thought I was Zagreus Hart. Now, you think this isn’t true love. Sorry, but I’m just not going to take advice from someone with your track record.”

His smile widens. His tongue peeks playfully out from between his teeth. Even though I know he’s baiting me, I can’t help but boil with frustration.

“There is a very reasonable context for the first two of your points. You were actively pretending to be a suave superhero and also the emotional trauma of the moment alone is enough to invalidate—”

“Exactly!” Grant interrupts. “You’re emotionally traumatized. That’s why you’re denying that we’re soulmates. And that’s why we’re going to take things slow.”

“We’re not… Wait. What do you mean by taking things slowly?”

Again, Grant runs his hand through his hair. Although, this time, he looks sad, rather than pensive.

“I told you: I’m going to do the opposite of what you suggested. Instead of fooling around now and talking about our feelings later, I’m going to talk about my feelings now and we can fool around after we’ve figured this all out. I don’t like you downplaying our once-in-a-lifetime emotional connection as sexual chemistry, but as long as we fool around, that’s what you’ll keep doing. So, until you truly fall for me—and I mean head over heels fall for me—we’re done doing squat thrusts in the cucumber patch.”

Well, there isn’t a single part of that that I like. My dry-humping orgasm from earlier is now just a distant memory for my needy lady bits. All that sliding towel action and couch cuddling has my body ready to go.

On top of that, I was definitely lying about having the feelings talk afterwards. I would rather work a hundred cases without a single paralegal than have a serious conversation about the existence of soul mates.

Grant nods solemnly. “Now, it’s getting pretty late. We won’t be having sex, but would you like to stay the night anyways? I’d really love to sleep with you in my arms. It probably goes without saying, but I’m a real cuddler.”

Oh god. It’s not even the morning yet and I’m already ready for the day to reset.

“Also, how do you like your eggs in the morning? I’m sure my mom would love to have breakfast with you.”

Forget being in a time loop. Clearly, I’m in hell. I’ve died and this is my eternal torture: a sexy man who won’t sleep with me, but wants me to meet his mom and talk about feelings.

Turns out all the jokes about all the lawyers being in hell were true.