“Let me take you somewhere…more private.” I’m very aware of the fact that anybody could walk in and break the spell woven around us at any time.
Savannah’s lips part in surprise, her bright eyes snapping up to meet mine. “Where?” she asks softly.
I smile at her, dropping both hands to her waist, just wanting to hold her. “Somewhere that’s not a bar filled with other men who’ll try and snap you up.” I keep my voice light despite the fact I’m utterly serious. “There’s an ice cream shop that opens late not far from here. Or we can walk through the park if you won’t be too cold. Or…” I let the word linger in the air, holding her gaze. In truth, I’ll take her to the fucking moon if she asks me to. “Or back to my place. Where I can keep you all to myself.”
“Your place…” Savannah repeats back to me as though surprised by my suggestion.
Shit, should I not have suggested that? I don’t want to be pushy, but I meant it when I told her I wanted her alone. Not just because my cock is fucking screaming at me to get even closer to her, but also because I want to spend time with her. However she’ll let me.
I say nothing, letting her think it through. I can practically hear her thoughts whir through her head. Only a few seconds pass, but it feels like an hour as I wait for her to decide our fate.
“I—”
Her answer is cut off by the blaring of a ringtone. It startles us both, and Savannah jumps, her eyes going wide as she fumbles for her bag. She pulls out her phone, frowning at the name on the screen.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths up at me as she swipes the greenanswerbutton and holds the phone up to her ear.
I take a step back, giving her space without leaving entirely. I hear what sounds like crying down the line and a woman’s voice and watch Savannah’s pretty, flushed features crumple with concern.
“It’s okay, Polly. Breathe.” Her free hand fiddles anxiously with the hem of her dress. “Where are you? Outside? Okay, wait there. I’ll call an Uber…”
My ribs grow tight, disappointment washing over me. I’m going to have to let her go. The thought is as sharp as a damn knife to the gut.
Savannah is frowning as she ends the call and puts her phone back in her bag. Already, she’s moving, pushing away from the wall and smoothing her dress down.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” she says out loud this time, brows furrowing. “I have to go. My friend needs me.”
“Savannah,” I call out as she brushes past me, jogging as much as she can on her heels, heading straight for the door.
She glances over her shoulder as she pushes the heavy door open, her blue eyes shining. “I really am sorry, Sean. I hope I see you again.”
“Sav—” The door closes behind her, and my voice trails off.
And just like that, the girl of my fucking dreams disappears.
* * *
I wakeup feeling like death. I barely slept, tossing and turning despite how comfortable my mattress and bedding are.
Even in the few moments of sleep I managed to get, my dreams were full of images of blonde hair, sparkling ocean-blue eyes, and the sweet smell of strawberries. I wake up groaning, my dick hard and my heart pounding. No amount of imagining or longing can bring her back, and nothing can fix the soul-deep desire to be close to her.
It’s six a.m. by the time I call it quits and give up on sleep. Early morning sun streams through the blinds, and I groan as I sit up, feeling stiff and sore.
Fuck, I didn’t even get her number. Or her last name. Or literally, anything that could help me track her down. I go through my routine mindlessly, showering, brushing my teeth, dressing, and making the bed. But though my body moves through the motions, my mind is stuck, replaying last night on a loop as though to torture me with my own stupidity.
“Savannah.” I head to my kitchen, straight to my coffee machine. “Savannah.”
I savor the sound of her name, the way it rolls off my tongue. I watch espresso drip into my mug, the rich smell filling the air, as my fingers tap against the marble counters. When the coffee’s finished pouring, I take it through to my office. The room is intended to be a second bedroom, but given that I’m thirty-eight and live alone, it’s much better suited to me as an office.
The bright sun pours through the large window that faces out onto the city. I flop down into my desk chair, arranging the hot mug on top of a coaster decorated by my niece.
My gaze catches on the toddler’s scribbles, my sister’s tidy handwriting at the bottom reading, “Christmas 2022.” She’d given them as gifts to all the family, and though I loved my niece and tried to be a good uncle, I’d never felt particularly paternal. But suddenly, all I can think about is having a little kid with huge blue eyes leaving scribbles on my desk, being chased about the apartment by a girl with bright blond hair and a voice as sweet as her perfume.
My hand clenches on the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles go white. The longing grows until it consumes me, regret filling me until I can’t breathe properly. I haven’t just lost the girl of my dreams, I’ve lost a future we could’ve had together.
I stand again, unable to sit still. My feet pace my apartment through the interconnected rooms until I’m standing frozen in the middle of my lounge. My gaze is glued to my armchair, or more specifically, the shirt thrown over the back of it.
I stripped it off as soon as I walked in the door last night and threw it at the chair intending to get rid of it in the morning. But now that morning’s here, the idea of crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash is unacceptable.
