Page 82 of The Casanova Complex

Yet again, I’m questioning my decisions. My choice of celibacy. Literally every single thing I’ve ever decided before this moment when I’d just possessed the self-restraint of a priest from the Vatican and told her we should stop.

I’d rather pluck my eyeballs out with a dull, rusty fork than stop.

It’s like the second she’s around, I lose myself in her.

Every time I text her and she gives me a snarky, bratty response that has me grinning the rest of the day.

Or when she’s sneaking glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking.

Or the fact that seeing her is the biggest highlight of my day.

With every passing day, I’m more and more convinced that my feelings for her are real.

The way I feel about her is like nothing I’ve experienced before. They aren’t a temporary high that I’m chasing. This feels different.

I think that’s the only reason I had enough willpower to stop tonight.

Because I like her, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I want to do it right this time.

“Motherfucker,” I groan, dropping my head back against the headboard and staring up at the ceiling. I’m pretty fucking sure my dick is so hard it’s cutting off the circulation to my brain right now, making it even harder to think straight.

I’m currently about to bust through the front of my sweatpants, and I don’t need to look down to know it, so I know that Merritt knows it too.

When I look over at her, I see that she’s trying not to laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh, woman,” I warn, shooting her a look.

She scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip and grins, lifting her eyebrows along with her hands. “Wasn’t gonna.”

“Mhm.”

I don’t bother hiding it when I reach into my pants and adjust my cock, tucking it into the waistband of my boxers.

I’m going down on a sinking ship. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep this up.

Thankfully, she puts me out of my self-imposed misery by grabbing her laptop and starting to work again, giving me a second to disappear to the bathroom to get my shit together.

I splash cold water on my face and give myself an affirming pep talk in the mirror, telling my reflection that we’re actually not as dumb as it seems like we are right now. That if there was ever a time to use the patience that we’ve been working on our entire life, it’s now.

Good things come to those who wait.

When I walk back out, Merritt’s sitting against the headboard with her computer open on her lap. Her eyes lift to mine, and she gives me a smile that makes my insides feel soft and mushy.

She’s so beautiful that sometimes she doesn’t even feel real. Like she’s this figment of my imagination that I’ve conjured up.

She’s not wearing any makeup tonight, and that doesn’t make a difference, really. I’ve seen her with and without it, and she’s stunning either way. Truthfully, tonight, she looks exhausted. More than usual. There’s a slight bluish-purple tint to the skin beneath her eyes, bags from not sleeping and putting in long hours for school, and yet she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

No question.

I could sit beside her and watch her do homework for hours and never get tired of it. I’d find something new to fixate on. The way she chews on the inside of her lip when she’s lost in concentration or the slight little upturn of her nose. The decoration of jewelry she wears in her ears and changes out every few days.

See what I mean by this being different?

There’s never been a single girl in my life who’s made me want to stare at her for hours. Not one girl who I’ve brought food because I know she’s not prioritizing her well-being. Not one where I intentionally say something dumb just to hear her laugh and tell me how stupid I am. Never one who I’ve studied enough to know that there’s a freckle just above her lip and another by the corner of her eye.

“I’m about to press Submit,” she says as I sit down beside her. I can tell she’s still nervous, her hands slightly jittery, her breathing a tad too fast, so I reach out and grab her hand, lacing our fingers together.

Her eyes widen slightly, but I just give her hand a reassuring squeeze, sweeping my thumb along the top, and tip my head.