“It’s okay. I-I’ll see you after class. We’ll have the rest of the night together,” I promised.
Love you, I pushed into our kiss.
Why couldn’t I just say it? He’d heard it before and hadn’t spontaneously combusted. Even if he was mostly unconscious.
Angel groaned and broke away from our embrace. “If we don’t stop now, I really will be late.”
“Fine. Go learn stuff.” I giggled and sent him off, admiring the way he flew down the stairs with natural confidence. I wished I had that.
I turned into the room and flinched at my reflection: messy hair, sleep-deprived hollows under bright eyes, and a long, white coat—er, robe.
If I squinted, I almost looked like a doctor.
Maybe one who’d just gotten it on in the on-call room showers. But still.
I could see it.
Me.
The woman I could be.
Maybe that’s what Angel saw: not just me as I was now, but past-me, future-me, all the Tori I could be. There wasn’t one path to becoming a confident, balanced person. Or maintaining a healthy relationship.
I had certifications. I had a degree.
I hadn’t failed at everything.
But I didn’t want to spend all my days afraid of running into old classmates or waiting for Angel to come to bed. I had to get a new job. Or a car, at least.
I had to try. I couldn’t rely on anyone else to make me happy.
I could make this new era my best one yet, especially with a loved one by my side. If only I knew how to tell him that.
Chapter twenty-four
Buy Three
The next few days were a whirlwind of wonderful punctuated by mind-numbing indecision.
Angel and I competed for who could slide the farthest across the dance studio's wooden floors in our socks. The loser would have to strip a piece of clothing. And dance. We’d always dance together, by the end of the game. Sometimes horizontally.
Whatever we did felt like love, even if we didn’t say it, yet.
We were in this constant flux of ecstasy and longing.
Spinning into hugs the second we’d reunite. Frowning at our respective screens while he studied and I calculated my dismal paycheck against student loans and car payments.
How was I supposed to do all this without burying myself in debt or relying on my parents?
Thankfully, even on days Angel and I worked, the monotony of sales was broken up by sprinting across the mall to see each other on breaks for laughter, shared meals, and kisses.
On a slow shift, I snuck into a dressing room to text Angel to propose another rendezvous, only to find a message from an unknown number.
Of what? Moving out of my parents’ place? Buying sexy underwear for a change?
I frowned and blocked the sender. Did Jen get another number just to bypass my filters or did someone send it on her behalf?
