That’s the question, isn’t it?
Two days left on the contract.
Two days to decide if I’m going to run again, or if I’m finally going to stay and fight for something I actually want.
My phone buzzes. A text from Jess:You deserve to be happy. Stop punishing yourself for wanting him.
I read it three times.
Maybe Jess is right.
Maybe it’s time I stopped punishing myself.
And him.
13
Corin
It’s twelve thirty in the morning and I’m staring at my laptop screen.
Amara left the clinic six hours ago after dropping that bomb about whether I actually want her or if I was just hiding behind professional ethics.
And I’ve been sitting in my study ever since, at the exact same spot where I ravaged her, and trying to figure out how the fuck to answer a question she didn’t technically ask.
Because here’s the thing: she’s right.
I did push her away after we had sex. Told her we couldn’t do it again while I was still tasting her on my tongue.
And yeah, the professional boundary concern was real, but it was also convenient. A ready-made excuse to protect myself from the terrifying reality that I want this woman so badly it makes me crazy.
I’ve been drafting and deleting the same email for the past hour.
Subject: Dinner.
Tomorrow night.
Westlight terrace.
Not a date.
A conversation we should have had five years ago.
My cursor hovers over the send button.
It’s too late to send this. She’s asleep. I should wait until morning. Be reasonable about it.
But if I wait until morning, I’ll talk myself out of it. I’ll run projections on all the ways this could go wrong, calculate the risk exposure, and decide the smart play is to let her finish the contract and walk away clean.
Except I don’t want clean.
I want messy and complicated and terrifying. I want her sitting across from me while I try to explain why I’m such a disaster. I want the chance to prove that when she asked if professional boundaries were an excuse, the answer is: maybe they were, and I’m sorry, and I’m done hiding.
But maybe I should change the location. Maybe having a date in my private villa is a bad idea.
Fuck it.
I hit send before I can second guess myself.
