It’s tempting, though.
Idiot!
“I see that look on your face,princesa. This is real, true. I mean it. I love you. I think I always have.”
A chink appears in the armor on my chest, and my breath stutters, but I won’t be deterred. I won’t. I can’t.
It’s a stupid idea.
Don’t make life-changing decisions after trauma. That’s the rule, right?
Well, if it isn’t, it damn well should be.
“Apollo...”
His fingers cover my mouth, and I want to bite them. In a not kinky way.
Fine. In a kinky way too.
It’s infuriating that he’d consider kissing me right now when I’m hurt, fucked up, and so fucking scared of what the future holds for me. It’s audition season, and I’ve already missed two auditions. What the hell do I do if I miss them all?
But he kissed me. And part of me is even more terrified to even consider exploring whether or not there’s something between us.
I could lose my best friend.
That’s too high a price to pay for dipping my toe in the delicious el agua de la Pena.
I’ve seen the girls he hooks up with—they’re nothing like me. Plus, we’d never work out. And if the relationship fails and we broke up, well, then I’d lose the most important person in my life.
Friendship is simpler, less fraught and not doomed to fail.
And selfishly, I’m not strong enough to face this mammoth recovery alone. I need him. Sure, his super soft lips against mine felt phenomenal. And yes, maybe I wanted to slip my fingers under the hem of his shirt and trace the pale skin I’ve stared at as he’s paraded around both of our apartments half naked damn near every day. But I couldn’t. I can’t. I won’t.
I need to stay on team #hellno and #whatthefuckareyouthinking because I refuse to lose my dream and my best friend all at the same time.
So I guess now I gotta kick the puppy.
CHAPTER8
Apollo
(JANUARY 4TH – DAY 8 POST OP)
She’s so fucking stubborn.
She’s been home for less than twenty-four hours and already we are verging on killing each other. It’s not quite the happily ever after I’ve been dreaming of every night since the accident.
That’s a fucking lie. Every night I close my eyes, I’m plagued by her lifeless body next to me in the car. I’m trapped and can’t get to her. Fear grips me in its clutches, and I wake up drenched in sweat with tears running down my face.
Mierda.
It should be easier with her living across the hall from me. But it’s not. Nothing short of having her in my arms at all times so I know she’s safe will help cure this ball-crushing terror that I’m going to lose her.
I wish she’d let me help her. I’ve done the reading. For the first two weeks, it hurts like hell to stand up. She’s got a cast from her toes to her knee, and a forum on the internet tells me that every time she stands up, blood rushes down, bringing a wave of incredibly painful pins and needles. Like her leg has fallen asleep, only far more excruciating.
I ended up on her couch last night. I was in and out of her apartment so often that it made more sense to camp out here. But she won’t let me move in. She won’t let her bestie Penelope move in either. And she still won’t accept a nurse.
I’m at my fucking wits end with this woman.
