Page 70 of The Heart You Kept

The doors are heavy as I push through them and the sunshine hits my face, my conscience whispers something silent.

This is a bad idea….

If making a bed were an Olympic sport, we would hold the gold medal.

I’m on one side and Pascal has the other, we grab the corners of the quilt and walk them back to fold down as we get ready for bed. “So….” I swallow the lump in my throat to try and make this sound as casual as I can. “Edward Prescott came into work today.”

Pascal looks up from what he’s doing.

“And you were completely right,” I tell him. “He admitted to saying those horrible things only to bait you because you and he don’t get on.”

He raises his eyebrow, unimpressed. “What else did he say?”

“That he’s donating the internship to someone who needs it and that he only bid so high because it was for charity.”

He keeps folding the blankets back as he listens.

“You have nothing to worry about, he’s not going to be an asshole any longer.”

“It’s Edward Prescott,” he mutters. “He can’t help himself.”

“Well, anyway, we don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

“Good.” He climbs into bed and flicks on his side table lamp and picks up his book and begins to read. I climb in beside him and roll onto my side to watch him.

There’s no playing between us, no passion, just this wonderful warm feeling of routine.

And I have to wonder, is it Pascal that I love or the security that he brings me?

For a long time he reads as I watch him, he doesn’t even look up.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, my mind once again goes into overdrive.

Honestly I’ve never dissected my feelings as much as I am lately, I’m not sure if it’s healthy…or constructive.

I glance back over to Pascal; he doesn’t ask me what I’m thinking about because he doesn’t notice that I am. I get a vision of Edward in my store today and the excitement that came with it. It’s like every time he’s near every one of my senses is standing to attention.

The only thing I’ll be cleaning are the cobwebs from your vagina.

I smirk at the memory and then roll onto my side facing away from Pascal so he doesn’t see my face.

Ugh…I need to stop this.

It’s stupid, it’s pointless and honestly, it’s becoming toxic. I’m going to ruin a relationship with a good man over fantasizing about sex with a bad one.

I need to stop.

My phone beeps with a text.

Mr. Doe

Hi Alora. My car will pick you up from your store at 1 p.m. on Friday. See you then.

Fine, good.

My mentoring is starting.

This is just a business training method; there is nothing to be excited about. I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile and stuff my phone back into my pocket.