Page 40 of All The Ways to Miss You

Maybe I’ve been misreading him all along? Maybe he isn’t the player I imagined. Maybe he only talks a good game while acting full of himself.

“So, how about that shower?” He pushes his empty plate away, but it signals more than that. It means this conversation is over.

My smile is forced while I’m deep in thought. The whispers are right on the edge of my mind, ready to worm their way back in. I remind myself his past and present don’t matter. Evan and I are nothing and never will be. I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. If anything, I want to be present in our final moments.

“You did promise I’d sparkle,” I joke.

Under the deluge of the hot water, Evan makes good on his offer, lathering me with a loofah. We don’t speak. Instead, I use the time to memorize him.

My soapy hands slide over his strong shoulders, along his spine and the angle of his hips before descending to the curve of his perfect ass. The most mesmerizing part of his body sits right below his etched abs. Defined hip flexors point south to his growing cock. It slips over my slick thigh. My perky nipples skim his chest, and my skin pricks in every place we touch. We kiss, soft and deep, wrapped within the steam. When I turn away, he soaps my aroused breasts, while his tip brushes the crease of my ass, but he never presses for more.

We’re coming back from that place where we gave all of ourselves, both physically and emotionally. Even here, we’re several steps back on our way to never touching each other again, and I’m already mourning the separation.

Stepping out of the shower and into the humid room, Evan wraps a fluffy towel around my back and pats my skin dry. I hold the towel closed at my chest and glance up at him. He brushes wet hair from my eyes, tucks a strand behind my ear, and caresses my cheek. I press into his touch, and my eyes flicker closed.

“This is nicer than my granny towels,” I admit.

“Only because you’re in it,” he says softly.

He leans close, and we kiss. It’s our last. I’m sure of it.

The sensation swirls in me and radiates from him. I live in our connection for as long as he allows. Our lips stick for a moment, and then he drifts away. His palm glides down my arms until my hands are grasped within his. He lifts my hands and kisses my knuckles before releasing me. We’re at the part of the song where we fade out to silence.

When he draws away, there are miles between us. Inside, I’m reaching for him, shouting for him to return and give me a chance, another night to prove we can be more, but he won’t respond to my silent protest.

A storm brews behind his eyes, and he sets his jaw. Regret flickers in his gaze. He slips past and moves into the bedroom, like he doesn’t want me to notice. I shadow him but don’t touch. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I tug the towel tighter around myself, searching for comfort. I need to fill Evan’s void somehow.

He dresses, hiding his body by layering a navy sweater over a T-shirt and jeans. He steps to a mirror and rakes his fingers through his damp hair. With a few swipes, the thick waves fall in a refined mess.

His attention drifts to me. It’s a signal. I need to get ready too, or I’ll be late for work. I relent to the inevitable. When I dress, I sense he’s trying not to watch, but his gaze seems tethered to my body. I take my time. Maybe he’s memorizing me too.

Now finished, he follows me to the front door. As his hand clenches the brass knob, I squeeze the strap of my bag on my shoulder. The door squeaks when he opens it. I step forward but he blocks me, forming a wall. My heart lurches with hope, and I find his eyes.

He’s buying time. I’d empty my savings for more. Not wanting to leave, I shift my stance.

There’s so much I want to say. Kiss me. Ask me to stay. Ask me to come back. Ask me anything that causes a repeat of last night.

I will all those words, or any combination of them, to pour from his perfect lips. But before they move, I know what he’s about to say by the dark resolve settling into his tawny eyes.

eighteen

His words aren’t about how much fun we had, how he wants to see me later, or even this weekend. They’re about something much less exciting. So when he says them, I slump into a dejected shell.

“I’ll fix your shower today.”

“Thanks.” I lace the word with disappointment, and he steps aside.

Being careful not to touch him as I pass, I cross the threshold, now officially a one-night stand. I achieved my goal. Congratulations, I won.

So, why am I so empty?

I made him want me, but now I regret it ever happened. Evan was right from the beginning—I never should have traveled this road. I’m not this kind of person, the kind who’s cut out for walking away. The game was fun, but the aftermath may break me. My stomach sinks, caving in a little.

I remind myself that once Aggie’s rules of the romance universe kick in, I’ll be over Evan in the ten steps it takes me to walk outside. Our night is a blip on my timeline. The question is, do Aggie’s rules apply to every guy? Maybe some guys are different. Maybe Evan is different?

I turn to face him. He’s leaning on the door frame, his sweater stretched tight across his chest. His hands dig deep into his pockets. His body language suggests he’s done with me, but his expression betrays him. He’s inspecting my every move, like he has been all morning.

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” I take the first swing again, hoping to shatter a new wall.