Another damn nightmare. But this time, it’s sharper. More real.
Jacob’s leg and arm drape over me—the only time I feel a flicker of connection. I rub my face, trying to erase the images. They’re not real, I tell myself. They can’t be.
I turn to Jacob. He’s sleeping or pretending to, so we don’t have to talk about it. The last time I begged him to talk about my dreams, it turned into an argument.“I’m not doing this again, Jenna. Just drop it,”he said, his voice bitter. Anger, sadness, maybe guilt, flashed across his face. I couldn't tell. And it kills me that he won’t let me in. That it feels like my husband has secrets. Skeletons. Something he’s not telling me.
Carefully, I slide out from under his hold and reach for my journal, hidden behind the drawer. Picking up where I left off, I escape in my writing.
Life feels like a constant war between right and wrong, good and bad. And I’m stuck floating somewhere in the messy in-between. I know I shouldn’t feel this way about Dylan, but if my feelings come from a good place in my heart, does that still make me bad? Or am I just repeating the same patterns, chasing something I’ll never find? Or worse, what if I’ve been searching for something that was never there to begin with? What if the problem isn’t them? What if it’s me?
Dylan can’t give me everything I need, and neither can Jacob. It’s like I’ve convinced myself I’m never enough.Not enough for Dylan to fight for me. Not enough for Jacob to let me in. Not enough for my father to stay.When do I become enough?
Chapter 22: It’s Complicated
Dylan: December
The memory of Jenna lying naked and exposed plays on a loop in my head, torturing me in the best and worst ways. Every detail, from the beautiful tattoo on her silky skin to how she bit her lip when she moaned, is all branded in my mind.
But the closer I get to her, the harder it is to remember why I’m supposed to stay away. Our connection terrifies me. It’s a fucking volcano waiting to erupt, and instead of running, I keep stepping closer.
No more, Dylan, do you hear me?Her words from yesterday repeat in my head but my desire is more persistent.
I heard you, Jenna. That doesn’t mean I’ll obey. Frustration twists in my gut, knowing I have no right to her, but my fingers type anyway.
Only this time, I lie to myself.
Dylan:Can I record your voice so I can replay the sound of your sexy moans over and over again? Fuck, Jenna, what you do to me.
I straddle my bike and hit the throttle hard, but it’s not enough to outrun her. She’s always with me—her piercing green eyes, that green dress clinging to her curves, that cute, flustered smile when she juggles too many things in her hands. And her legs. God, those sexy long legs.
But it’s more than just physical. It’s the way she sees beyond my cocky smile and hard muscles. Like she sees the cracks I’ve tried so hard to hide. And somehow understands the weight I carry beneath it all. It’s the kind of connection I’ve spent my whole damn life running from—deep, real, impossible to fake. And now? I can’t stop messaging her when my heart wants to be seen. When it’s begging me for more of her.
Lost in thought, I miss my exit and find myself driving past Jenna’s work. My heart clenches as I park in front of the bakery across the street, pretending I’m here for the coffee and not hoping to bump into her.
My phone dings, and I jump to open it.
Jenna:What did you do to me? I can’t stop thinking about you. Wanting you. And you were right. I am unhappy. I’ve been unhappy for a long time. But I have no right to feel this way. Jacob gives me everything I need. I shouldn’t want you…
Her words rip through my chest, raw and unfiltered.
Me:I can’t stop thinking about you either. If it makes you feel any better, you left me with a goddamn boner for the last twenty-four hours.
Jenna:It does not help. Every time I close my eyes, I imagine you touching me… your hands sliding up my thighs, teasing me, making me beg. Dylan fucking Hayes. Come inside me. Right. Fucking. Now.
Jesus Christ, Jenna. Torture. Instant hard-on. I shift uncomfortably, cursing the universe for not making her mine.
Me:Fuck, you’re killing me. Cock’s throbbing. I dream of you riding me all the time. Currently bending you over in a bikini by the ocean.
Without thinking, I call her. Ten rings. She finally picks up, breath shaky.
“Meet me,” I demand, my voice rough. The need to see her burns through every nerve ending.
Silence stretches. My stomach twists, bracing for rejection.
“Meet you where?” she murmurs. “I love our friendship. And maybe I take advantage of how you make me feel like no one else, but…” Her voice breaks, and my grip hardens on the handlebars.
“I’m not an idiot,” she continues. “I know how this story ends. You win your challenge. You have sex with me. Probably a lot. And then you leave. Or worse, my family finds out and I destroy them.”
She’s right. I’m not the guy who settles down. And one night with her? It would never be enough. Because it’s not just about sex. I care about her—more than makes any goddamn sense. I’ve never felt this connected to anyone. Not like this.
