Crap.
This could be a while.
She doesn’t wake up as early as I do.
I won’t be able to survive sitting here just waiting so I leave my phone on the counter, lace up my sneakers, and hit the pavement.
I’m embarrassed by how quickly I reach for my phone when I come home from my run.
Milliseconds.
But, her reply was waiting.
Thinking about my body responding?
Fuck, now I am. I can't handle her flirting.
Stop it Laney. Accept the compliment.
Fine. Thank you for the compliment.
Can you go for a swim tonight?
Maybe, what time?
The beach should clear out around 7:30 p.m. and that gives us enough sunlight to do the 1,500 meters again.
I don't know if I can get off tonight.
The edges of my phone dig into my palm and I realize I’m gripping the hell out of it. I force an exhale out and regroup.
Can you ask? There's rain in the forecast tomorrow so I don't want to push it.
Hold on, I'll ask and let you know.
I set my phone down and open the fridge.
The mason jars are all neatly lined up. I’ll need to get them to her at some point. Maybe after our swim she can come over for dinner and then I can send her home with all this food.
I know having her here is literally inviting chaos into my home. Her flirting in texts is easy enough to squash.
In person?
I’m tempting fate in all the ways I've learned not to. She's a drug, a potent one, and I can't let myself enjoy the rush of pleasure she would bring.
It leads to a crash, everytime. Each crash feels harsher than the last. Each subsequent hit then needs to be stronger, longer.
I can't.
I won’t.
She’s too pure, too promising, to get tangled up with the likes of me.
I’ll just have to control myself.
Who says I can’t? There’s no way I’m already dependent on her smiles and warmth to soothe my cold, rigid edges.
I can’t let her know how desperately I crave her. How I want to risk it all and kiss her, taste her, claim her.
