He places me down. “Go to sleep. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
Aware that I won’t be able to refuse him, I agree with a nod, needing an escape from reality just as much. Our weekends are stolen moments that open a world that is solely mine—my happy place.
Plus, his eyes promise something more sinful, and I am so ready. I’ve been ready from the very beginning, but it’s like hehas been waiting for something, and now he’s done. Every bit of patience and restraint dissolving one thread at a time, snapping and scattering lifeless at his feet.
I am about to turn when he curls his hand around my elbow. Spinning me around, he lifts me off the ground and backs me into the wall, kissing me so long and profoundly, an electrically charged wire zaps through me from head to my toes.
“Thank you.” I don’t know exactly what for, but he drove from New York just to see if I am safe.
Features softening, he rasps,“Mo run, it’s my duty to make sure you’re all right. It’s my responsibility to take care of you.”
“I would have called,” I say meekly. “I’m sorry. I will answer from now on.”
He nods and comes in for another kiss. “You better.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I love you because I do. I don’t know when it happened, but between the talks, the sleeping together, the riding, love snuck into every crevice of my being. He’s intense in the best ways, and I fall hard, hoping love won’t shatter me once I hit bottom.
Tiptoeing back inside, I wash my face and change into my shorts and top, replaying that gleam in his eyes, sparking with a titillating promise.
All my good intentions of staying away for one weekend are eviscerated.
It’sa recurrent image I go to sleep with and wake up to—his eyes. They always jolt my heart as if reminding me whose it is.
My arms lift over my head, stretching, feeling invigorated. I’ll need my strength this weekend.
I don’t even suppress my smile once Evie wakes up.
“Morning,” I chirp.
She mumbles, not a morning person at all, “Only you, I swear.”
“Hey, being a morning person is in the job description.”
She waves me off. “That’s one thing coffee will solve.”
A nostalgic silence breaks out.
“Wouldn’t it be great if we both got jobs at the same preschool?” she sighs dreamily. “Maybe…”
“Yeah, maybe,” I murmur, hoping the air carries my wish so the right person grants it.
As I go to my classes, my thoughts run to what Evie said. I could picture it happening.
As if Tristan senses my distress, he calls, and I pick up as I pass some students in the hallway.
“Someone is missing me hard,” I say, trying to infuse as much cheer as possible.
“The less time separates us, the harder it becomes.”
But as if he senses my mood, he asks, “What is bothering my woman?”
“I’m a troubled woman having an illicit affair.”
“We’re not having a fucking affair.”
It does things to me whenever he vehemently confirms how strongly he feels about me, utterly confident in our future together. It makes the entire ordeal bearable.
“Evie and I wish nothing more than to teach in the same school, but we know we can’t. Because I am who I am, and well, she’s who she is,” I sigh, seeing no harm in confessing.
