I’ve reached the point of no return. I know I have, but I haven’t been able to admit it out loud. I’m not a psychologist or anything, but I think I might be in the denial phase. Denial driven by fear.
Is that a stage reserved only for grief, though? Can grief be a stage for fear of falling for your best friend’s brother?
The thought of pursuing anything with Holt seriously past whatever it is that we’re doing is terrifying. Like diving off a cliff blindfolded. I just can’t do it.
At the same time, I can’t seem to stay away from him. Over the past days or weeks, however long it’s been, my body hasn’t stopped burning for him. Every inch is now overcome by the memory of Holt’s touch. My nipples still remember the flick of his fingers. My pussy still remembers the feeling of his tonguelapping against it. My neck is haunted by the pleasant torture of his teeth sinking into my flesh.
The desire to keep going down this path with Holt is only made worse by me staying at his place. I need distance for now.
Being back home, in my own space, brings me back down to earth.
While sitting on my loveseat, I tuck my legs under myself. My laptop sits in the same position on the end table that it’s been for the past several months since I finished my novel. I stare at it as if it’s mocking me. Taunting me.
I tap my finger on my knee, my mind filtering through every single chapter. The way my characters started, the way they come together, pining and yearning over each other before they get their happily ever after. I feel so disconnected from them, it’s hard for me to think about diving into their world again since I’ve been dipping into my pot of my feelings for Holt.
I bypass the laptop and pick up my phone instead. I flip through social media before typing Holt’s name into a search engine. Every local news channel has at least one story about him and his new relationship with the woman, who he supposedly met at the auction. The woman he, quote, unquote, won. My stomach sours thinking that’s how the world sees me. The woman who waswonby the unattainable billionaire Holt Capuleti. Like I’m some piece of his property that can be bought.
I scroll through endless pictures of us walking in and out of his building. The night he took me to the ballet. Us at the market. Even some of me on my way to my shift at Charleigh’s flower shop.
By myself.
An icy chill makes its way down my spine.
I close out the search results and toss my phone onto thecouch just as there’s a knock on my door. Sitting upright, my heart races. No one ever comes to my apartment. Ever. Not even my sister.
I smooth my hair and bounce off the couch before opening the front door.
Holt is standing on the other side, looking good. Too good in his black suit and black tie. His eyes wander along my body before they drop to my mouth. Suddenly, I’m conscious of my appearance. I really should have taken a shower after yoga instead of vegging out on the sofa.
“Hey.” I exhale sharply.
He stands at the threshold, gripping the doorframe, unmoving. I’ve barely furrowed my brow before he’s claiming my mouth. He cradles my head in his hands and kisses me like he hasn’t kissed me in days, weeks, even months.
He groans into our kiss, and I somehow step back, gripping the back of his arm.
“Holt.” I search his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I missed you today.”
I laugh but soon stop. I haven’t forgotten how confusing this all is for someone who doesn’t fall in love. For a woman like me who doesn’t have those deep, visceral, life changing feelings for someone else.
“Wait,” I say when he kisses me again. “Wait, wait, Holt.” I gently push him away.
He reluctantly breaks our connection but keeps his hands wrapped around my face. My skin quickly grows cold the moment he does as I ask and drops them at his sides.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes scanning my apartment.
Fuck, I just realized this is the first time he’s been here since the night he showed up when I was drunk. This may be the second time he’s been here ever, but this time is different. I’m sober and aware of how different it isfrom his place.
He looks back at me.
His eyes burn for me as he works to catch his breath.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” I start, taking a nervous glance around. “It’s just… you’re here.”
“I’ve been here before.” He chuckles. “Remember?”
When I turn back to him, he’s admiring me before he gently brushes his fingers along my cheek as he tucks my hair behind my ear. I’m still sticky and slightly sweaty from my yoga class earlier, and suddenly very conscious of the way I look.
