I haven’tstoppedfeeling it. Not for twenty fucking years.
No. I got drunk to stop feeling. Just for one damn second. One hopeful minute. One hour where I could shove all those feelings I have for Matt down and let it just be sex.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I sink lower, the hot water engulfing my neck, splashing onto my cheeks. I take a slow breath as I close my eyes, forcing the tight furrow between my brows to soften. It’s been there since yesterday. Since the talk with Matt, where I tried to backtrack every decision I made the night before like a complete idiot. Like Matt was just some guy from a bar who doesn’t know every inch of me, inside and out.
Complete idiot.
Not only is he not some guy from the bar—I swear to God he knows me better than I know myself.
The things he said. The way he called me out.
He was right. Mostly.
I think you got drunk because you were afraid of what you might feel after.
Except for that one.
The faint sound of a door shutting cuts through my peace and quiet, followed by Matt’s voice.
“Babe?” he calls out. “I’m back.” His voice grows louder as he gets closer. “Where you at? I made dinner reservations.”
“I’m in the tub,” I call back.
The Zurich suite is not like the Zermatt suite.
The Zermatt suite was beautiful.
But the Zurich suite?
Holy shit.
It’s modern luxury done right, and it’s huge. I got curious this afternoon and looked up the price online. Ten thousand a night. In Swiss Francs. I don’t even know what that converts to in dollars, but it’s more. A lot more.
And this tub alone is worth every penny.
Well… every one ofMatt’spennies.
A soft knock taps against the door.
“Hey, babe?”
“Yeah?”
“I made reservations for seven. Can you be ready by six-thirty?”
“What time is it?” I ask, too comfortable to move.
“Five-fifteen,” he replies.
“Yeah. That works.” Then, just to ease his anxiety about me running late, I add, “I’m not washing my hair. I’ll be ready.”
“Alright.” He lingers by the door. “How’s the tub?”
“Amazing,” I say, closing my eyes again, wishing he could join me.
