Page 18 of I Will Always Love You (Maybe)

The moment is so raw and devastating, and also beautiful someway. I feel it nipping at my soul. We both look at our hands clasped, and the moment seems to carry on for minutes. And then I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her inner wrist. Just one brush of my lips, something to show I care, that I’m hearing and absorbing her story. Something in her gaze shifts.

She pulls my hand to her face and leans into it like I’m the support she needs, like I’m the one holding her up in this moment, and my insides melt. I cup her cheek, brushing my thumbs against the soft, silken, skin.

I honestly don’t know who leans in first. Me? Her? But our mouths meet, with soft tastes of cinnamon tea and dessert. It’s startling at first, like a shock you’d get in a staticky house. She’s hesitant, I’m hesitant, and it’s a bit awkward and clunky.

“I just want to forget…” she whispers into my mouth.

And I want to stop chasing.

I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. But, oh God, I want to do this. My skin is on fire; the need to touch, be touched, to stop running, seeps into me. Colby’s soft, perfect tongue slips into my mouth, and I grip the back of her head.

I shouldn’t do this…

But fuck it. Right now, I don’t care.

Hands and heavy breaths fill the air. Her mouth on me, on my neck, tugging at my shirt. Palms, and hands, and fingers dragging across skin. Moans and flutters and hunger. So much hunger.

Scrubs off, bras off, fingers dipping, mouths moving. There’s licking and sucking, and oh hell… everything feels incredible. I don’t want to chase, and she doesn’t want to think, and no one fucking cares, and this all feels so goddamn good.

The wind and snow slap against the window, the flames in the fireplace burn bright, and tentative hands turn into desperate hands. We move, messy, unhinged, tangled. The blanket is kicked off, naked bodies swivel, soft lips and gentle mouths swap for a rushed, frantic, frenetic need to burn off energy, to burn off memories, to allow for a moment of reprieve.

Right now, I no longer care about consequences.

NINE

JOSIE

Sharp, crisp air hits my bare shoulder, and I blink my eyes open into the space. It takes only a moment in my sleepy haze to realize where I am. I bolt upright and drag the blanket across my body.

Oh, no. No, no, no, nooooo. Shit.

What have I done?

The evening before comes back to me in a flash. A terrible, yet phenomenally hot, flash. The sex was great. Oh God, it was so unbelievably great. Hot, frantic, urgent, messy. But—I did it again. I chased something and made a terrible, impulsive decision. I let my heart and body make decisions that my mind knows are wrong, and the need to connect made me do something very, very stupid.

And clearly Colby thinks the same thing because she is no longer curled next to me on the couch where everything happened. Nope. I’m alone. Covered up with an extra blanket, a fresh water bottle on the coffee table next to me, a pile of folded blankets beside it, but definitely alone.

I’m gonna cry.

It’s been forever since I connected with someone, like this, and made a friend, and the first thing I do is sleep with her? What the hell is wrong with me? But… oh… those lips, those fingers, the way she moved. My chest flushes with the desperate need to do it again, and the guilt of what I’ve just done. Yes, I’m sexually open and free and a firm believer that any consenting adults should do whatever they want, but this is so much more. This is me going back on my promise to myself to find what I’m seeking and not numb myself with sex. And I’ve failed, again. With Colby.

I scoop my clothes off the floor, tug the blanket around my naked body, and tiptoe down the hall to use the bathroom and get dressed as quick as humanly possible. Colby’s bedroom door is shut. Thank God. The very last thing I want to do right now is face her and everything I’ve done.

Well, I fucked this one up good. Whatever budding friendship was happening here, whatever flicker of something potentially brewing, I ruined because of my need for something. And as hot as the sex was last night, as luscious as her lips were, as good as everything felt, I still didn’t find what I was looking for. This constant, endless, unfulfilled ache in me is as present today as it has ever been.

The hardwood floors in this place are so creaky, and I’m praying to whatever entity out there that may exist that neither Kona nor Colby wake up. Flames fan my cheeks. I absolutely cannot have this moment right now. I throw on my jacket, stuff my feet in my tennis shoes, and quietly step outside.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

It appears that while I was having multiple orgasms last night the storm of the century was getting busy outside. The area is covered in a blanket of white. Covered. It looks like someone just plopped us in the deepest part of the Arctic Circle and any moment a polar bear is going to rise from the hills and give chase. It’s barely dawn, just the tiniest murky ray of light is peeking over the horizon, but I think even if we were in full sun, I’d have trouble spotting my car.

The wind is whistling, whipping more flurries into my face; the snowflakes are thick and fat as they slam down. I shield my face against them as I run to where my car is buried. As the car warms, I take a deep breath, push the back of my head into the seat, and close my eyes.

“Shit.” I allow myself a few more moments of wallowing, before I reach in the back to grab the snow brush. Once I’m home, I’ll allow myself a proper cry and a few moments of verbal self-flagellation. But now is not the time. Now is the time to break free from this place and run as fast as I can to the safety and serenity of my own bedroom.

Outside, the long brush swooshes across the roof, the windshield, the hood, and massive mounds of heavy snow plop to the ground. My feet are buried up to my midcalf, icy cold wetness soaks into my leg, and why, why, did I not change into the boots I have buried in my trunk? Let’s add a solid case of frostbite to my terrible decisions for the last twelve hours.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got this…” I say, trying to fake to myself that I do, in fact, got this. Which I’m pretty sure I don’t. My legs are freezing, the scrubs offering as much protection against the snow and wind as a piece of tissue paper. I frantically brush off the last of it and scurry back into the car.