“I’m not going to lie, that would be less than ideal, but I’d also understand. I’m mature enough to recognize and comprehend what’s going on here.”
She licks her lips, making me want to lean down and capture them one final time. “Stop saying all the right things.”
Instead, I pull back and drag my thumb over her bottom lip, loving how they glisten from the slickness of her tongue. “Never going to happen, honey.”
13
EMORY
Istand at the threshold of Dawson’s apartment door, my feet planted in the hallway while he looks at me, his large hand lifting to wrap around the edge of the door.
He groans in well-covered frustration. “Despite everything I just said, I have to admit something—I don’t want you to leave.”
My face heats, blush painted on my cheeks at his forwardness. After that initial kiss where he carried me over to his couch, we spent another handful of minutes wrapped up in each other. Until I wiped away the lust that fell over us and told him I had to head home. And then I used the restroom—mostly because I needed a minute to get my thoughts straight—and came out to find him waiting for me, leftovers ready to go.
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. The unruly strands have been doing whatever they damn well please all night. The memory of Dawson’s touch as he swept them back earlier comes to mind, eliciting a current of need through my core. It hasn’t taken long for me to realize that he’s the kind of guy that isn’t afraid of physical touch. It makes my heart sing out in beautiful melodies.
When I take a step back, he lifts his hand to me, tugging me forward a step when I settle mine in his. There’s still enough space between us that I could get away if I wanted to, but I’m not sure I do. For some reason, I like this game of you should go, but I also really don’t want you to.
It would be so easy to walk back into his apartment and forget about everything else.
I flip to flirty mode, knowing that the last thing we need right now is more heaviness. “It’s torturous watching me go, isn’t it, Dr. Cole?”
Another soft chuckle leaves him. I love the sound of it and the way his throat constricts when he swallows at the end of it. “Considering I now know how soft your lips are, yes, it’s quite difficult.”
He tangles our fingers together, woven pieces of human thread that strengthen this bond that exists between us. I never could have expected it. “If things were different…” he says, his gaze dimming a fraction. There’s an emotion there I’ve only seen one other time—when he’s talked about his past. I focus my attention on his eyes, on how beautifully golden they appear while the fluorescent lighting behind him shrouds him in a soft glow. He’s almost angelic, ethereal.
I want to sink into the light he exudes, knowing it’d snuff out all the darkness that has taken over.
Pressing my palm over his chest, I say, “I know. You don’t have to say it.”
His eyes glimmer the tiniest bit. “How could you possibly know what I was about to say?”
“Because I feel it, too,” I admit, that comfort slinking back in when he drops my hand and curls his palm around my waist. I lift up to my tippy toes and kiss his cheek, my lips grazing the promise of rough stubble after a long night of rest. I wonderwhat it’d be like to wake up in the morning with him beside me, that easy grin in place as his hands roam my body.
His fingers squeeze into me, as if they’re kissing my hip, and he murmurs in an emotion-clad voice, “Goodnight, Emory.”
My breath is a light breeze on his cheek. “Night.”
I walk backwards, giving him one final glance before I spin around and walk down the hallway that leads to the exit. I’m an utter mess, sadness gripping my arm and twisting it in an attempt to pull me to a stop as I trudge forward.
For the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like I’m going to a place that feels like home.
I’m not excited to walk through the front door of the house Lance and I share. I know how big of a problem that is. How telling of a sign.
But no matter how much I want to, I can’t turn back. I can’t even take this pizza home in fear Lance will question where it came from. A short laugh leaves me, and then it turns into a sob as a forlorn sensation charges through me.
Life shouldn’t be this hard, this confusing. My heart shouldn’t be torn to shreds over the grief of slowly losing the connection I share with my fiancé while, at the same time, longing for a man that is strictly forbidden.
I walk the trail to my car, passing a bench and trash can as I go. I’m no more than ten steps past it before I turn around, give my foil-wrapped pizza one last glance, and drop it into the waste bin. It clatters to the bottom, my heart aching, as my phone buzzes in my pocket.
The streetlights flickering to life along the building's parking lot remind me how late it is, a pinkish orange glow staining the sky as the late summer warmth entwines around my legs and arms.
When I unlock my phone and look at the message, hopelessness seizes me, doubling in size with each breath I take.It’s not the kind of message I was expecting, and yet, I have to be okay with it.
Lance:Have to run to the office to handle a paperwork issue for this house that’s in escrow. Don’t wait up.
I reread the message three times before I accept that this is what my life has come to—Lance doing whatever he can to avoid me while I fall for a man who is nothing like him.
