“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.
But I don’t leave. I sit by her bed until she drifts off again.
Then I stay longer, staring at her hand—the same one that used to cradle a bottle more than it ever held mine—and feel that familiar mix of guilt and anger twist in my chest.
It’safter two by the time I make it home.
I strip down, step into the shower, and crank the heat until it’s just shy of burning. Steam fills the room, swallowing me whole.
My body’s still not fully healed, but I’ve been working out with the team trainers, pushing through the pain.
Dancing sure as hell wasn’t on the list of approved activities—but when I saw Emma on that dance floor, logic went out the window.
My muscles scream from the night’s chaos, but all I can think about is her.
Emma.
The way her body felt pressed against mine. The taste of her lips. The sound she made when I kissed her like I still owned her.
“Christ,” I growl, bracing a hand on the wall. The memory is torture and comfort all at one.
I can still feel her heat, her breath on my neck, the way my hands fit at the dip of her waist.
That thin dress clinging to her skin, those straps slipping off her shoulders, olive skin glowing under the lights. I wanted to kiss every inch of her collarbone, her throat, that soft spot below her ear where she always shivered.
And then the way she clung to me outside, fierce and unguarded. The way her mouth fit mine like it still belonged there.
For a few wild seconds, the world disappeared.
It was just us again.
I close my eyes, replaying the look she gave me, and my whole body tightens. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten hard thinking about her in the shower.
Won’t be the last.
I’m pumping my fist, and it is in no way in hell as good as the real thing, but for now, it’s all I’ve got.
The tension builds, sharp and relentless, and it drives me until I’m spilling my release on the wall of the shower with a curse slipping past my lips.
When the water runs cold, I shut it off, grab a towel, and head to bed.
My ribs are sore.
My head aches worse. But I’m too wound up to sleep, wondering if she’s lying in bed somewhere, thinking about me, too.
I check my phone before setting it on the nightstand. Two texts.
The first is from Nik:
Downtown Diner. 8 am.
I type back:
Ok. Thx.
The second one, with Emma’s name attached,I’ve missed you.
My heart stops, but then it picks up like the beat of a drum, hammering up into my throat. I try typing out a response. Too many words. Too few. Sounds stupid. I finally settle on:I’ve missed you, too.
