The question leaves my lips before I can stop it.
“What was that?”
“What do you mean?”
My spine stiffens. “I mean the part where I answered a phone call with your fingers inside me, and the part where you came in your jeans.”
His jaw clenches. “You were there. You know exactly that it was.”
I sit back, just enough to put space between us. “It kind of felt like everything and nothing.”
He exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face, then mutters, “I didn’t come here to confuse you.”
“Too late.”
I stand, suddenly too aware of every inch of bare skin and the soaking wet spot on my shorts. He follows me with his eyes, still seated, but the shift in him is obvious. Shoulders squared, guarded again.
“You keep showing up like you want me, and then standing there like you don’t know what to do with me.”
“I do want you,” he says, voice tight. “But that doesn’t mean this is simple.”
I laugh. “God, you sound like every man who’s ever wanted the benefits without the commitment.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I cross my arms. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels pretty damn familiar. You want the fire, but you flinch at the burn.”
He stands slowly, eyes locked on mine. “You think this doesn’t burn me?”
“I think you’re too scared to admit it does.”
The silence between us turns brittle.
And then, softer now, I say, “I’m not asking you to fix this. I’m just asking you to stop breaking me in the process.”
Will doesn’t answer.
And that says everything.
“I think we should end this before someone gets hurt.” The lie slips out smoother than I expect.
“Phern—”
“It’s better this way, Will.” My voice stays calm, but my hands betray me, shaking slightly as I gesture toward the door. “You should go.”
He just stands there for a beat, like he thinks silence might change my mind. But it doesn’t. It just makes the ache sharper.
Finally, he exhales, jaw tight, nodding once like it costs him something.
“For the record,” he says quietly, “this isn’t what I want.”
I nod, tears burning behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. “Wanting isn’t the problem, Will. It’s the follow-through.”
He flinches like I hit him. Good. Maybe he’ll remember that next time he gets halfway close to choosing something real.
I don’t say another word.
And eventually, he leaves.
