Picking them up on my way back from my meditation session?
Fine.Yes.I do that.
Did I shift my schedule around Mila’s activities so they’re not walking around the city alone?
I’d rather chew my arm off than answer that question.
Julian raises an eyebrow, reading me like he’s flipping through a cheap magazine at the grocery line.“You’re sure?Absolutely nothing happening there?”
“There’s nothing,” I repeat, aiming for confident and landing miles off the mark—tight, uneven, nowhere near convincing.A tone that is desperately trying to hide the truth I’ll never say aloud: from day one, I’ve wanted to taste that sassy mouth of hers.
I’ve imagined pinning her to the wall, dragging her leggings down just far enough to sink into her tight, wet pussy while she bites my shoulder to keep quiet.
Those are the kind of thoughts that never leave my mouth.
They live in the silence.In the tension.In the pulse between every look we exchange.And they’ll stay there.Buried.
That’s something I’ll take to the grave.
My new resolution is simple: deny, deny, and—is that lying?
Probably.
Should I talk to my therapist?Definitely.
Maybe even go to a meeting and reevaluate my life choices.
I just say, “Nothing even remotely?—”
He snorts.“Man, you were staring at her like she personally invented sunlight.”
I choke on air.“I was not.”
“You were,” he says, already helping himself to another piece of pancake.“You get this look when she talks.Your face softens, and I swear I saw little hearts come out of your eyes a time or two.”
“My face doesn’t do that.”
“It absolutely does.”
I glare at him because honestly, what the fuck?
“Listen,” I mutter, pointing at my own face, “this thing has never softened once in its life and never will.”
Julian leans against the counter, crossing his arms, and tilts his head like he’s evaluating a rare species.“It did this morning.”The smugness on his face is infuriating.
“You need a hobby.”
“I have several and just founnd a new one,” he says cheerfully.“Watching you implode.”
I level Julian with a look that should shut him up, but it doesn’t carry the bite I want it to.Irritation coils low in my gut, but something else pushes through, heavier, more volatile—pressing against my ribs like it’s clawing for daylight.
I’ve tried to keep it buried, tried to convince myself I’m too careful, too wrecked, too aware of what happens when I let something in.But the truth is, he’s not wrong—and that’s the part I can’t stand.
It’s that he sees what I haven’t said aloud.
I don’t want to admit what’s happening.Not to him.Not to myself.Not when Mara is nothing but borrowed time in yoga pants with sunshine trailing behind her.She’s here to sort through her aunt’s assets and then disappear.A temporary neighbor with a kid and a dozen plans that don’t include me, and still, something about her makes me feel like I’ve stepped into a life I don’t deserve, but still want.
Every part of it feels unstable.As if looking at it too closely will make the whole thing vanish.
