I did manage to find one way to do it, but I’m not sure she’d appreciate me doing that right now.
As I stagger up the stairs to my front door, Daisy in my arms, I can’t resist drinking her in.The feel of her in my arms, the weight of her against my body, the intoxicating smell that is all Daisy.
Fuck, I miss her so bad.
Inside, I walk quietly down the hall to my bedroom, grateful when I see my brother’s door open and his bedroom empty.He must be staying with whatever chick he picked up tonight.
In my room, I gently lay Daisy down on my bed, slipping her flip-flops off her feet and leaving them on the floor beside the bed.I go to the bathroom, grabbing some Tylenol and a glass of water, which I put on the nightstand beside her, and then I just stop.
And stare.
At Daisy.
In my bed again, her hair all spread across my pillow.Her hand is resting on her stomach, her tank hitched up to reveal a stripe of tanned skin.She’s already turned toward the other side of the bed, the same way she always slept when she was with me, and my heart aches so fucking bad that I literally have to clench my hands into fists just to stop myself from crawling into bed with her.From pulling her into my arms and reminding her of all the ways we were so good together.
“Jesus, Daze,” I whisper.“When am I ever gonna get over you?”
She mumbles something, then as she turns onto her side, she buries her face in my pillow.I swear she inhales, as though she’s breathing in the scent of me.It’s the same thing she’d do when she rolled in and buried her face in my neck, and it’s so achingly familiar that I can’t stop myself from leaning down and brushing a soft kiss across her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get over you,” I whisper, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.“You were always it for me, Daze.Always.”
Then, before I do anything stupid, I grab my notebook off the nightstand and head out to the living room, knowing I can’t just climb into my bed with her, no matter how badly I might want to.
After I grab a glass of water, I kick off my flip-flops and collapse onto the couch.Even though I was up early surfing and I’ve had a few drinks, I’m not tired.My body feels wired and on edge, my fingers itching with the need to touch, grip, tug.I’m fucking horny as hell too, having held Daisy in my arms, knowing she’s in my bed.
“Jesus, Miles, get a fucking grip,” I mutter as I switch on the lamp and try to write some shit down.
But I’m distracted as fuck, staring at the same blank page for what feels like an hour before I eventually give up, throwing the notebook onto the coffee table.
Instead, I pull my phone from my pocket, opening up the photo app and torturing myself with a trip down memory lane.Then, because staring at photos of me and Daisy together isn’t bad enough, I switch over to Instagram, clicking on Daisy’s profile, which I still follow.
She hasn’t posted anything since I left Maui, and I have no idea why.But all the posts from before that are still there, including all the photos of us.
The two of us sitting together at the beach, the two of us surfing, the two of us eating shrimp at Matt’s food truck, us huddling around a bonfire, kissing on a mountaintop.
All memories of better times.
A time I desperately want again because it doesn’t matter how much distance we put between us or how much we act like we’re friends and we’re okay with that; I’m not.
Because the truth is, I am still head over heels in love with Daisy Carmichael, and that hasn’t changed since the day I first laid eyes on her in junior high.
I loved her then, and I love her now, and I wish to hell we could find our way back to those better times.
But I don’t even really know why we broke up in the first place, or why she hooked up with Isaac, or why the two of us are like strangers now.
All I do know is that it’s torture seeing her every day and not being able to touch her or kiss her or do all the things I used to do with her.
I want that, and I want her.
I want to mend whatever is broken between us.
I just wish I knew how.
I wasfifteen years old the first time Miles Olsen snuck through my bedroom window in the middle of the night.A small collection of soft taps at the glass before he slid the window open and climbed through, never waiting for me to acknowledge he was there.
I should have been scared, but fear was the last thing on my mind.We had been dancing around our feelings for years, too young and innocent to even know what to do with them, let alone understand them.
My eyes were heavy with sleep.It was so late that only the glow of the moonlight lit the streets and sent a beam through my room.I could see his beautiful face, a desperation painting it as if he needed to see me no matter how late it was.
