This is crazy!
This can’t be happening. I cannot be kissing Ryan… my best friend and the guy I’ve been secretly into for the last year. But as my lips part and his tongue sweeps inside, licking against mine, it’s obvious itcanbe happening, because it is. I’ve never kissed anybody before, and now my hands roam his middle, while his cup my face, fingers threading into my hair and giving him better access.
He pulls back, eyes heavy, fingers moving to brush his lips. “We can’t do that.”
“W-why not?” I ask, still reeling from having his lips on mine.
“Because you’re upset, for one. It would be wrong.” He’s no longer touching me, but he’s still in close proximity.
“Yes, we can,” I whisper, pushing on his chest until his back hits the couch. I don’t know where this brazenness is coming from, but I throw my leg over him until I’m straddling his lap. “It’s already making me feel a little better.”
Ryan’s eyes search mine—for what, I’m not sure—before he wordlessly reaches for the hem of my shirt, tugging it over my head. I’m too far gone to be insecure about him seeing my naked chest and the stretch marks that litter my stomach. Instead, I do the same to him, ridding him of his hoodie.
He sits up, his palm splayed on the small of the back as he kisses me again. This time, full of hunger. Flipping us so I’m lying flat on my back and he’s hovering over me, his fingers reach for the waist of his sweats that I’m wearing.
This can’t be happening…
This can’t be happening…
But it does. He gently removes my clothes before removing his own, and he takes me right there, on the couch I’ve sat on beside him hundreds of times.
I think even through the bliss and the shock of what was happening, I think I knew—even then—that it was the beginning of my end.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jules van der Meer
When me and Lorelei got together, I never felt that obsessive need to be near her or the need to talk to her all the time. Sure, I enjoyed being around her and genuinely enjoyed having her in my life, but it was never that explosive, can’t think, can’t breathe type feeling you see in movies or read about in books. She made me happy, we meshed well together, and eventually, we started a family. We worked for many years, and I very much loved her.
I never questioned my mellow take on love. Not until Bodhi. Now, I’m not saying I’m in love with him… but the way I feel about him is blistering. It’s irrational. It’s playing with fire despite knowing you’re going to get burned because you can’t fathom staying away from the heat. It’s compulsive.
My Bentley pulls up outside his house a quarter after eleven. Did I call before I came over, give him any sort of heads up of my plans before doing so? Absolutely not. He’d have to actually speak to me for that to work. He’s ignored every attempt I’ve made at communicating since he snuck out of the hotel room last week.
It’s been seven days… sevenlongdays of radio silence and the remembrance of what he felt like wrapped around me. Seven days too fucking long. So, here I am.
Me: I’m outside.
I send the ridiculous text and wait. Wait for the message to switch to read and wait for the furious text that is sure to follow.
Three minutes. That’s how long it takes, I counted, before my phone vibrates.
Bodhi: What the hell do you mean you’re outside? Outside of where? Cause I know it isn’t my fucking house!
His response does not disappoint. My lips turn up into a grin as my thumbs move over the screen.
Me: Look out your front window, pretty boy.
Bodhi: What the hell is wrong with you? Who the fuck just shows up at someone’s house unannounced?!
Me: Someone who is tired of being ignored.
Bodhi: Jesus Christ. Move on. Find someone who actually wants you. It’ll save you a lot of unnecessary driving.
Me: So moody. You sure didn’t feel that way a week ago when I was making you scream for an entirely different reason.
Bodhi: You’re incorrigible.
Me: Let me in.
