That thought should have terrified me. A couple weeks ago, it would have. Now, it still created anxiety pressing on my chest, but it was more a cat than an elephant. The fear of being vulnerable was there, but it wasn’t as scary anymore. It was like Kent turned the lights on and showed me the boogieman wasn’t so bad.
Didn’t mean the boogieman didn’t exist. I was just able to look him in the eye and tell him to fuck off.
“I have to leave again this evening. My business wasn’t done in New York,” his voice vibrated against my cheek, and I tried not to tense at the news.
His message to meet him last night was unexpected, but I hadn’t cared, I was grateful to get more of him.
My first instinct was to pout and demand more of his time, demand we stay locked in this hotel room until we were old and gray.
Instead, I settled for a simple, “Okay.”
It wasn’t anything new from the last month, but it didn’t make it any easier. It’d been a week since our argument. A week since I opened Pandora’s box and admitted that I did really care.
If I thought I cared about this man before, nothing compared to now. I discovered the hard-working man beneath the light-hearted veneer, the caring man, the loving son, brother, and uncle. When he sent me a picture of him with his niece, my heart almost combusted along with my ovaries.
Everything was still the same, but also very different. We still only met at the hotel for quick romps, but sometimes it was more than that. Sometimes, I brought my comfy jammies and curled into his chest, watching movies and eating popcorn. Our phone calls were more about getting to know each other, rather than sexually taunting each other.
It’d only been a few days, but when I thought about it, we’d been shifting for a while. It was just this last week, we embraced it. And I loved everything about it. I never wanted anything to change. I wanted to live in this man’s arms in this hotel room, forever.
But forever came to a screeching halt when his hand stopped moving in my hair and rumbled the words, “I think we should tell Daniel.”
Everything stopped. My heart, my thoughts, my breathing, his breathing.
“What?” I whispered.
“Olivia…”
I jerked to my elbow, needed to see if he was really serious. “Why? Why would you want to tell him?”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t know, Olivia. Maybe because I care about you and want more than this room with you?”
“I do too, but that doesn’t mean we have to tell Daniel.”
“It doesn’t? What about when I want you by my side at social events? Or I want to hold your hand at dinner? What then?”
My heart pounded, thrumming like a freight train, bringing every inch of my skin alive. My lungs worked double-time to compensate for the extra blood pumping in my veins. “I—I don’t know.”
I closed my eyes and imagined telling Daniel I was screwing his best friend. I imagined his eyes dimming, the pride slipping away as he saw me the same way as everyone else—a girl only good for her body. What if he thought I slept with Kent to get the internship? What if he thought all the good things everyone said about me at the hotel were all because I was screwing the boss.
“Olivia…”
“What do you want me to say to him, Kent?” Pulling the sheet to my chest, I moved from the haven of his arms, needing space. “Hey, Uncle Daniel. The internship is going great. Mainly because I’m screwing the boss. Life is pretty easy when you don’t have to use your brain and just your body.”
“That has nothing to do with us, and you know it,” he growled, his own frustration rising now.
“And he’ll know exactly what I let you do to me. How could he not? He’s been your fuck partner for as long as I’ve been alive. He’ll know everything.”
“Olivia—”
“God, the way he’ll look at me. I—I’ll be a disappointment.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I get to be dramatic,” I screeched. “I’m just a silly girl who gets to be dramatic.”
“Stop,” he barked. “That’s enough.”
But I was beyond his commands. This wasn’t sex, and he didn’t get to boss me around outside of bed. “He’s like my father, and you’re asking me to tell him I have dirty hotel sex with his best friend. I mean, what happens if it doesn’t work out? Who will he choose? Will I be the cause of your friendship ending?”
I dropped the sheet and searched for my dress. Snatching it off the floor, I struggled to untangle the material with my shaky hands, and tears blurring my eyes. This was everything I was scared of, finally admitting I cared and something going wrong and having to endure the crumble.