I’d known we’d eventually go back to being friends only, but the possibility of not having her as a friend at all had never crossed my mind. These past five days, when I’d been at home, I’d been trying to figure out how to make myself put her back in the friend zone. I had thought not talking with her for a few days would help me forget about how much I enjoyed being with her, how much I liked holding her, how good her lips felt, and how she gave me another reason besides football to get up in the morning.
At one point, when I couldn’t get my mind to think about anything but Isla, I’d resorted to talking to my dad about her.
I’d given up on having real conversations with my dad years ago. A grunt or a nod was the most I’d ever gotten out of him. I figured it couldn’t hurt to talk to him about everything that had been going on the past few months and had hoped that talking things out to someone who wasn’t really listening might help me get things off my chest, to help make more sense of my relationship with Isla.
I’d started from the day Isla and I had met, when we’d run into each other, telling him all the details, all my confused feelings, up until I’d opened up to her a week and a half ago when she’d stayed the night.
Silence had settled over the room when I’d finished, with only the background noise of the TV, my dad staring straight ahead. Assuming he hadn’t heard a word, I’d stood up to head to my room, but then his gravelly voice, rough from not speaking, had stopped me in my tracks. I’d asked him to repeat himself, not sure I’d heard him right the first time.
“Don’t let her go,” he repeated, his gaze still focused on the TV. “You never know how much time you have. Cherish every moment you get with her.”
Slowly, I’d sat back down on the couch, shocked that he’d responded, saying more to me than he had since my mom had died. My eyes had filled with threatening tears, both for my dad and for the truth of his words.
He hadn’t said anything else the rest of my time at home, but what he’d said had stuck with me.
I didn’t want to lose Isla, but I also didn’t know if I could be with her and keep things platonic. Now that we’d crossed those boundaries and I knew how amazing it was to touch her, to kiss her, to have her hands on me, it seemed impossible to stop. They’d felt like second nature with her. I hadn’t had to think about how I should act to be her boyfriend, to make sure I was appropriately attentive. I had just been myself with her.
But as impossible as it may have seemed, I’d been willing to give it a try to keep her friendship. That was one of the reasons I’d asked her to come hang out. Besides wanting to see her, I’d wanted to see if I could control myself around her. I’d thought if I could treat her as just a friend, then maybe I had hope to get over these feelings—feelings that didn’t make sense to me.
I hadn’t expected her to blindside me with ending our agreement and talking about giving Josh a second chance.
Josh. I had disliked him before, but now I hated him. What kind of person dumped his girlfriend after she switched schools to be with him, then tried to get back with her when she was dating someone else? A self-absorbed douche is who.
I leaned back into the couch, letting my head fall back. How in the hell was I supposed to watch her be with him again? Just knowing he’d slept with her drove me crazy. He had probably been just as selfish in bed as he was in his daily life.
Did she even know what sex could be like?
My body hummed with desire at the thought of pleasuring her and showing her all the different ways I could make love to her.
Shit. Had I really just said the wordsmake love? I didn’t know if I’d ever used those cringeworthy words together.
I was worse off than I thought. How had I let it get this far?
In my defense, I’d never dated someone before, or enjoyed someone’s company so much before, or been so attracted to someone before, or thought about someone constantly before. Basically, there had never been anyone like Isla before.
But love? Yeah, there was no way. I hadn’t completely lost my control—or my mind.
All of this was exactly why I needed to be happy she’d called things off. I didn’t want to be in a committed relationship.
Or at least I hadn’t before Isla had come into my life.
But no. I had to remember that relationships were dangerous, that they ended in disaster. They took over who you were, pulling your emotions in all sorts of crazy directions.
Look at me now. I’d only been in a pretend relationship, and now I was a mess. I wanted her when I shouldn’t, I was enraged that she wanted to try again with Josh, I couldn’t get my brain to stop obsessing over her, and I was scared that somehow, without realizing it, I’d fallen for her.
Maybe her ending things with me and going back to Josh was a good thing, despite how I felt about him. If she thought she could be happy with him, then great for her. She could have the relationship she’d been wanting, and I could go back to my life, keeping myself safe from any potential emotional damage.
I nodded, happy with my decision. This was for the best.
Then why did I feel like crap?
She’d left less than an hour ago, and I already missed her. She’d entered my life as quickly as she’d exited, somehow permanently leaving her mark on me. I wasn’t even sure if I could go back to my old life. I had no desire to be with any other woman. The thought of kissing a girl or letting them touch me wasn’t enticing at all, not even in a distraction kind of way. I’d had my fill of women, and continuing my old habits held no interest for me. Especially after the few times I’d been with Isla and felt what kissing could really be like, how it was a full body and mind experience.
Gosh, I sounded like such a pansy, getting poetic about kissing a woman.
What had happened to me?
Isla. That’s what had happened to me.
