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He gazed up at her with loving, dazed eyes. “Room spins. Shay made me drink.”
She chuckled. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I love you so much,” he slurred.
They stumbled toward their bedroom, her arms around him, and a hollow ache opened in my chest. This sort of loneliness only nipped at my heels when confronted with their kind of love—worn and comfortable like a favorite, perfectly fitted T-shirt, the one a person reaches for when they’re seeking relaxation and contentment.
Not something I needed, but to witness it was to want it.
Why did humans have to crave companionship so thoroughly? Why was it encoded in my DNA to want someone? The ancient biological imperative made sense, of course—protection, procreation, prolongation—but in today’s society, there was strength in solitude. I had no one to answer to, no one to worry about. No one could hold me back.
And yet…
On midnights like these, I wanted to be held back. Held down. Held so tight I could barely breathe, then listen to his whispers of love and desire and let them wrap around my thoughts until they delved too deep to extract.
Not a single person had ever come close to fulfilling that craving.
Except one.
But he was more fiction than fact. A fantasy I’d created in my head. Because the real man was so far above me, he might as well live in the clouds.
I was in love with an unobtainable daydream.
Oh, god. When I started getting maudlin, it was time for sleep. I headed straight for bed.
Eleven
On Monday morning, a paper coffee cup sat on my desk with my name penned in permanent marker. I sniffed it and notes of caramel drifted across my nose.
A gift?
Or poison perhaps? Was Booboo behind this?
I glanced around, searching for the culprit, but no one looked at me. Helen was already clicking away on her keyboard.
“Did you see who set this here?” I asked.
Her lips pinched, and she spared me a bare moment of her attention by shaking her head. It was admirable, her desire to remain silent in my vicinity. She could have the voice of a chipmunk, and I’d never know.
“Oh, Helen,” I said. “Just wait. We’ll be the best of friends someday. I’ll win you over.”
Was that a hint of a smile? Surely…
“Darling!” I jolted and found Bennett strolling toward me with open arms, dressed immaculately in an open-collar white button-up and gray slacks. “The weekend was dreadful without you.”
“Hey, Bennett.” I toasted him. “Do you know who brought this?”
He eyed the cup and made a home on my desk again, permeating the air with his enticing-yet-subtle cologne. “Perhaps your fairy godmother came to visit. Be sure to drink it before midnight, or it’ll turn back into mud.”
Throwing caution to the sandalwood-scented wind, I took a sip.
Caramel macchiato.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. My favorite drink? How?
“Something wrong, darling?” Bennett asked.
I studied the cup, trying to glean any hints from its white, logo-free surface, marked only by my name in unfamiliar handwriting. “It’s just— It’s my favorite drink.”
