J—
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"So you are a thing." Sana eyes me after the door closes behind Lisa.
"No." I return to the office, keeping my gaze on my feet, my heart locked in self-preservation, and my mind replaying her words.
Lisa swooped into my life and claimed way more headspace than I could afford to give her. I wish I knew how to take it back. Erase all that we've done.
I wish I could unmeet her and have a redo under different circumstances.
After work, I take my computer to Ritual Cafe, where I have a date with a brownie, a cup of decaf, and my laptop to get more work done. An hour after pushing myself to focus, I dig my Kindle out of my handbag and bring up The Last Person.
I reread one page at a time, one line at a time. Maybe Lisa's right.
Maybe it's a flawed story.
Maybe the writing is sophomoric.
Maybe it's redundant, predictable, and self-indulgent.
Maybe B. Ashton will never write another book.
Maybe I'm not only her number one fan but her only fan.
It's just …
It's tough to fall in love with something and feel judged for that love. Books possess power. They are no more ink and paper than humans are flesh and bones.
Humans have souls … books have souls.
They reach across oceans. Bridge divides.
They are so much more than the hands that write them. Books transcend time. Stories don't die. They are immortal. They are timeless.
I guess I'm a romantic for books. When someone shares my love of a story, it reaches deeper than a kiss, and it's a bond that can't be broken.
That's why I should only let Lisa steal me momentarily, give her my flesh and bones and my temporary wandering mind. What happens when the physical fades, and we're left with the hard reality that her wind doesn't blow in the direction of my soul?
I chuckle at the direction of my mind.
"Laughing at yourself?"
My head jerks toward the familiar voice.
"Hey, Felix. What are you up to?" I move my bag so he can take a seat.
"Saw you in the window."
"Laughing at myself?" I wrinkle my nose.
"Yeah." He slides his leg against mine.
My eyebrows lift. "How's the new girlfriend?"
"She got a job offer in Minneapolis and took it."
I sip my second cup of coffee, that's now lukewarm.
"You seeing anyone?"
My gaze follows my cup as I set it on the table. "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course." He runs his hand through his thick, blond hair before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
"I've been seeing this gp girl off and on. I like her, and she's fun."
"That's code for she's good in bed?" One of Felix's eyebrows peaks. He knows.
Biting my lower lip, I nod.
He nudges my leg. "How good?"
"Jealous?"
He twists his lips. "Should I be?"
I shut my laptop and rest my head on my hands. "I don't know. I'm not sure it's some God-given gift. It's pheromones. Chemistry. Something more than memorizing the playbook. It's not better." Lifting my head, I shake it. "Or maybe it is. I'm not sure. It's just different. We almost fit. And that's almost a great feeling."
Felix chuckles. "Almost? Isn't close enough good enough?"
"Close is worse than completely being the wrong fit. It's like the puzzle piece that almost fits. You try it a hundred different ways because it's so damn close, and you want it to be the right piece."
"So what's the snag? Why is she not the perfect fit?"
Grunting a quick laugh, I gaze over Felix's shoulder because I can't tell him the truth and look him in the eye. "She doesn't like my favorite book."
Silence.
After a good ten seconds, I risk direct eye contact.
"I'm sorry. Did you say she doesn't like your favorite book?"
I knew he'd react this way, but I still frown like I expected a different reaction. "If a girl you liked didn't like your dog, it would be a dealbreaker, and you know it."
He sits up straight, withdrawing his leg from its spot next to mine. "Yo … you know my dog's name is Gilbert, and you can't compare a dog to a book. Sorry. Nice try. Now tell Ms. Almost Perfect that you screwed up and let a book get in the way."
"I love Gilbert, and you know it, but I don't love you at the moment, even if we're forever friends with benefits. Just because you don't read anything that's not a blog doesn't make books anything short of the perfect soulmate."
"Whoa … maybe I need to read this soulmate book."
"No. You don't. If you don't love it, we'll be over. If you do love it, you'll have to marry me. And if I'm being frank, I have a slight dog allergy."
"Seriously?" He cocks his head to the side.
My nose scrunches. "Seriously. I love him but I always leave with an itchy throat, watery eyes, and some phlegm."
"You're right. I can't read the book and risk having to marry you. If I have to choose, I'll choose Gilbert."
I smile. "If I were in your shoes, I'd choose him too. Allergies aren't sexy, and I won't lick your legs after you get back from jogging. I know that's important to you."
"So … maybe we save you from phlegm and just go to your place tonight if you have no intention of choosing Ms. Almost Perfect over your hardbound soulmate."
I slide my laptop into my bag. "My copy is a paperback."
"That's unfortunate." Felix has a special kind of sarcasm that makes it impossible to keep a straight face.
"It really is." I sling my bag over my shoulder and head toward the door.
Felix slides past me to open it. "Did you bike?"
"You betcha." I nod toward the black horseshoe-shaped beam with my bike locked to it.
"I can give you a ride home, and we can get your bike in the morning."
"It's supposed to rain. And I'm uncomfortable leaving my new bike here all night. That lock isn't top-notch."
"I'll drive slowly then." He unlocks his car while I open my chain.
"The race is on." I wink and take off before he gets into his silver Mercedes. I don't intend to sleep with him, but I need the comfort of something or someone besides my wandering thoughts.
Despite crawling through the streets of downtown and intentionally hitting all the red lights, he still beats me to my apartment. I push my bike past him as if I don't see him leaning against the maple tree with one leg crossed over the other, looking quite casual.
"Who's letting Gilbert out?" I ask as if I'm talking to the wind, looking straight ahead at the door.
Felix pushes off the tree and follows me. "My neighbor."
"The one you slept with?"
"You'll have to be more specific." He opens the door after I swipe my card over the reader.
"Such a manwhore."
"Yet, here you are … taking me to your place for the night."
"Not to have sex." I lock up my bike and head up the stairs.
"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa …" He grabs my hand to stop me.
I let him yank me toward him just before the stairway door. "Whoa, what?"
He frowns. "I'm not here to cuddle."
"I can't have sex with you."
He laughs, sliding his arms around my waist. "And why not? Is it that time of the month? I'm good with shower sex."
Nibbling at the corner of my bottom lip, I shake my head.
"No? Then what?" He cants his head.
"I'd rather not say." I escape his embrace and head toward my apartment.
"Vague is not your MO. What's going on?"
Before I can answer, Lisa's door opens. She fills the space with her shirtless torso and her usual sexy jeans—freshly showered hair. It's weird that a girl who owns a T-shirt shop wears one so infrequently. Was she watching for me?
"Hey." My mouth tries to find a casual smile where my lips don't quiver as much as my voice—total fail.
"Hi." Lisa's gaze goes straight to Felix.
"Sorry … uh … Lisa, Felix. Felix, Lisa."
No handshakes are swapped, just two people sizing each other up as if they know I've had sex with the other one.
"You staying?"
Wow. Just … wow. Have to hand it to Lisa; she wastes no time getting to the point.
"Why should you care?" Felix rests his hand on the small of my back.
Lisa ignores the possessive move on Felix's part, keeping her gaze locked on mine. "We had sex in the bathroom of the bouldering gym earlier today. No condom. I'm just saying … proceed with caution. You don't know where my dick has been. Have a good night." She takes a step back.
After a final ruling, the door shuts like a gavel: my life sucks.
Kill me now.
Felix steps in front of me, forcing me to acknowledge him—to answer the question before he asks it. I don't need to answer it. The truth blooms in my cheeks and wrinkles my face as a permanent cringe.
"Now I know why we're not having sex tonight." He shakes his head before rolling his eyes to the ceiling. A long, heavy breath shoots out his nose as he bites his lips together.
"I …" I rub my temples. "I can't believe she just said that."
"Well …" Felix grunts, returning his attention to me. "It's the right thing to say when you don't want another guy fucking your girl."
"I'm not her girl."
Biting the inside of his cheek while studying me for a few seconds, he shakes his head slowly. "I've known you for years. We've had sex countless times. I know you're on the pill, and you know I get tested regularly. Yet … you've never even considered letting me stick my dick in you without a condom." Bending forward, he kisses my cheek and slides his mouth to my ear. "You're definitely her girl," he whispers. His declaration makes the hair along my neck stand up and my pulse surge.
My defenses send my thoughts into a frenzy. I'm not Lisa's anything. I'm just … I'm …
Closing my eyes because I don't know what I am, I wait to no longer feel Felix's touch. I wait for his steps to fade, the door to the stairway to shut, and for my anger to find the correct target.
My hands curl into fists, desperate to bang down Lisa's door. All these words no longer want to be muted, suppressed, and ignored. My insecurities win, guiding me to my door instead of hers. As I open my door, I hear the faintest noise behind me.
It's her. I don't have to turn around. I just know.
"I like you. A lot."
I nod slowly. "That's a relief. I'd be pissed off if you felt the need to trample my evening by confessing intimate details without really liking me first." I turn.
"What must I do to make you not want to bring guys home? Flowers with the petals still on the stems?"
I tell my lips to remain neutral. She hasn't earned a grin, but damn … it's hard. The problem is that I like her too—a lot.
"A journal of all my thoughts about you in a day?" she asks.
That one hits me in the feels.
"A night of cuddling instead of sex?"
My gaze drops to the floor between us.
"Old school? Need I remind you that I formally asked you to be my girlfriend?"
I slowly shake my head.
"If I kiss you again, will you push me away?"
"Don't kiss me," I whisper, feeling …
Feelings …
I have these crazy strong feelings for her. I'm attracted to her and angry at her … even when I'm clawing at her skin, desperate to feel her inside me. It's so messed up. Attraction like this is a drug that plays havoc with every ounce of sensibility I have left in my brain.
"What will you do if I kiss you?" She steps closer, putting us toe to toe where I can smell that heady mix of spice and citrus and feel the heat from her chest.
"I'd kiss you back," I say just above a whisper. "And I wouldn't be able to stop. I'm asking you not to kiss me. If I get lost in you, I will lose myself."
"And that's bad?" She lifts my chin with her finger.
"It would be tragic."
She studies me through narrowed eyes for a few seconds before dropping her finger from my chin and shaking her head. "I don't understand. If it's just sex, I'm way off because it feels like more than sex."
"What if it's not? What if I like how you fuck me, and that's where it ends?"
I hate that she flinches. And I hate how it sounds because I don't mean it.
"Then I'll take you any way I can get you."
Before I can react or show the slightest sign of refusing her, she kisses me, and I don't even fight it. We kiss. Anyone can see us from their peephole, an open door, or walking up the stairway. By the time she carries me to her doorway, my shirt hangs around my neck, and she palms my ass with one hand and shoves my bra up over my breasts with her other hand.
Drugs. Only drugs make people this stupid. I need to check into rehab … after one … more … hit.
What's the best way to redeem oneself after reckless, unprotected sex? More reckless, unprotected sex. She's deep inside me within seconds of the door closing behind us, and we make it no farther than the sofa.
Clothes half on, half off.
"I'm not sharing you," she whispers in my ear, a breath before biting the skin along my neck.
I have no desire to be shared. Her body moves above mine on the sofa. One of her hands pins both of mine above my head while she drives into me repeatedly. It's sexy. She's sexy.
My head lulls to the side as I fight back my orgasm. I don't want this to end.
And then it happens … my gaze focuses on the pile of books atop her coffee table. The Last Person is at the bottom.
I'm at the bottom.
We're both getting fucked by this girl. And I hate that my mind goes there. If I could make it stop, I would. So I close my eyes and focus on her inside of me. It feels good. She smells good and tastes good. Everything is good.
But it's not!
The. Fucking. Book.
Either books are ruining me for people, or people are ruining me for books. Well, just one person … and one book.
"I … I can't." I wriggle.
"What?" she asks with a strained voice as she speeds up her motions, sweat beading along her forehead.
"I said I can't!" I push at her chest again.
Lisa stops and pulls out of me. I fall to the floor and shoot to my feet, piecing myself back together.
"Did I hurt you?" Confusion lines her face as she slides up her briefs and jeans while lifting her pelvis from the sofa.
Yes. She hurt me, just not the way she thinks she did. I don't look at her. My gaze stays on the book as I thread my arms through my shirt. The human brain is terrible. Thoughts are the worst poison. I'm fucking toxic to myself, and I can't stop it.
Lisa's gaze tracks mine. "Please tell me this isn't about the stupid book." Her fingers thread into her hair.
It sucks to be in the 'it's not you, it's me' rut. Yet, here I am.
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"Want to talk about it?" Mom asks after I invite myself to dinner for the third night in a row.
After storming out of Lisa's place, the last thing I need is to run into her. I'm sure she's bewildered. One minute we're having great sex, and the next minute I'm shoving her away, throwing on my clothes, and running out the door with nothing more than an "it's over."
"I'm having issues with this girl I like." Squinting against the sun, I sip my glass of wine while we watch Dad turn the chicken on the grill.
Like is the wrong word. On the one hand, my feelings have reached beyond "like," but on the other hand, she feels like the bane of my existence. I like having sex with her, and I more than like being in her arms or the adoration I feel from her when she does nothing more than smile at me. She's friendly … says hi to everyone, whether she knows them or not. She likes to read. It's not that she doesn't have potential. She does. Just not with me because I'm an incurable, self-destructive, fucked-up bibliophile.
"What issues?"
"Just different tastes in things."
"She's not a climber?"
"Ha! No. That's not it. She climbs, and she's outstanding. A phenomenal climber. It's her taste in literature."
"Literature?"
Gah! It sounds ridiculous, but it's not. "She joined our book club. We're reading my pick … my favorite book. And she doesn't like it at all."
Incredulity lines Mom's face. "A book?"
"She called it redundant, repetitive, and sophomoric."
"Is it?"
"What?" I flinch. "No. Of course not." I rub my temples and shake my head. "How can I make you understand? It's like …. you love your rose bushes. What if Dad hated them and—"
"I do hate them," Dad says.
"Not helping, Dad." I roll my eyes. "Fine. He doesn't like them, but he trims them, feeds them, and is careful not to harm them when he mows the lawn and uses the weed eater. What if he trampled them and called them ugly weeds? What if he said anyone who likes roses is stupid? How would that make you feel?"
Mom's body bounces while she chuckles. "Oh, dear. Did this girl you like call you stupid for liking the book you chose?"
"Well, no. But by degrading the book and the writing, it was implied."
"Or just a difference of opinion." Dad shrugs, closing the lid on the grill. "I love mushrooms, and your mom hates them."
"Not the same thing." I frown. "When you love a story, it resonates in some way with your heart or maybe even your soul."
"What's the title of this book? Maybe I need to read it?"
I smile at my mom. "I have my copy in my bag, and you really should read it."
"But for the love of god … if you don't like it, keep that shit to yourself." Dad thinks he's funny.
He's not.
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