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A strength. A maturity. A stoicism.
Over the years, my crush came and went. Sometimes, it was stronger. Other times, I faded to a speck of dust. I was with another guy. Or he was with another girl. Or I needed to see him as a friend more than I needed to see him as a potential lover.
We didn't spend a lot of time together one-on-one. Only the mornings I slept over before Cassie or anyone else was up. He would talk about the books he was reading, the classes he was taking, the way he got to see more of the world late at night and early in the morning because he often had trouble sleeping.
Is that why he hasn't invited anyone to live with him?
I want to know everything about him. And I want to share extra parts of myself. It's scary.
It feels safer unpacking in this spare room. But the sense I want to crawl into his bed forever makes that even more dangerous.
I finish unpacking, I set up my temporary work desk (there isn't a lot to do, but there are a few things), and I finalize my plans for the evening. For the next three weeks, actually.
A few nights of domestic bliss, then the task of impressing his boss, then more nights of, well, sex.
That's what I expect.
Dinner, sure. And shared space, yes. But sex and company for a few hours a night.
Three weeks and we part.
The math is the same as it was two days ago, but somehow, it feels wrong. Different. More painful.
I push the thought away. It doesn't matter how much it will hurt to leave him. I'm leaving him.
Every ex-boyfriend I've ever had was right. My work is my first priority.
But for the first time, I'm not sure if it will always be my first priority. And that's a terrifying feeling.
So I seek refuge in the place where we fit so well, where I know exactly what I want to take.
I pick out the perfect outfit to seduce him.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Daphne
After I don a snug white crop top, a pair of pink cotton panties, and a short denim skirt, I meet Jackson in the backyard.
My husband is already two steps ahead of me. He's spread out on a lounge chair in a tiny swimsuit. The kind athletes wear to compete.
Of course, he has one of these. He grew up on the swim team, the way Cassie did. He gave up the sport in college, but he kept it as an activity. Or he kept this strictly to torture women.
That's a strong possibility.
Fuck, those really leave nothing to the imagination. Even in the dim light, I can see the outline of the parts I want to reveal.
I force myself to look to the sky. It's a beautiful night. Clear and warm. The stars are tiny flecks of light against the indigo sky.
There's no view of the ocean. No smell of salt or easy breeze. I don't consider myself a California girl or a beach lover, by any means, but I miss the familiar surroundings.
How am I going to survive in New York City?
Sure, it's an island, and there are private clubs with rooftop pools, but I'm not rich enough for that kind of thing.
The long train or subway ride to Brighton Beach or Long Island or New Jersey—
It's only an hour or two, but that's the furthest I've ever been from the ocean. That's too far.
