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“Honey,” Dad softly groans. “I think it would be pretty creepy if they walked around smiling like robots all the time.”

“I’m okay,” I lie as a wave of emotion threatens to burst out of me. “Really. I’m just a little tired.”

“You should stay the night,” Mom suggests. “Drive home in the morning.”

There is something appealing about the idea of spending the night in my childhood bedroom, but I’m not a child anymore. If there’s one thing I learned, it’s that I can handle my shit when I need to. “I have some work I need to wrap up,” I tell her. It’s not technically a lie. I could always be working, especially since I took so much time off. I mean, I tried to write. Life just kept getting in the way.

Life, Adrian, hit men. Don’t all writers deal with stuff like that?

As much as I love spending time with my family, it’s always a relief to walk back into my own space, where I don’t have to put on a happy face. Where I don’t have to perform.

Now I sit on the edge of the tub while it fills. I probably added way too much bubble bath, but I need something indulgent, and shoving my entire face into a cake probably isn’t the way to go. No matter how good that sounds right now, especially since I barely ate dinner.

Once the tub is full of suds, I turn off the water and slip off my bathrobe, hanging it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door before carefully stepping into the tub. The candles flickering on the windowsill and vanity make shadow and light dance on the walls, and the soft music playing on my phone adds a sense of peace and relaxation.

So why can’t I stop wishing Adrian was in the tub with me? That instead of touching cold, unyielding porcelain, my back could rest against his warm, firm body?

Closing my eyes, I release a breath and sink down until the water almost reaches my chin. I need to let go. I need to let him go. Whose big idea was it for us to start sleeping together, anyway?

And look at me now: On the verge of tears, horny as hell, and all alone.

What would he do if he were here now? I hope he would wrap his arms around me, the way I do for myself now. It’s not the same. Nothing is the same. I might as well join a convent or something, even though I’m not Catholic and don’t totally love the idea of living with a bunch of women for the rest of my life. I mean, nuns or not, there has to be some cattiness involved, right?

Surrounded by bubbles, my body begins vibrating with need. To think, I went all my life without being touched the way he touched me, and now I’m like an addict looking for the next fix.

I imagine his hands touching me now while I run mine over my breasts, teasing my nipples until they stand erect. It’s Adrian sending little shivers of pleasure and heat down into my core. Deep, almost painful longing zips through me, and I can’t believe it, but I have to fight back a whimper while I remember him touching me until I came.

Tasting me. I can feel his scruffy cheeks chafing my thighs while my nails run over the delicate skin there, and I spread them wider, imagining I can hear his needy grunts. That he opens his green eyes to lock gazes with me while his tongue works its magic.

“Adrian . . .” I whisper, letting myself sink deeper into the memories. The two of us in the barn with him taking me from behind, making me howl while I let go of every trace of my inhibitions. It was hot, it was unhinged, and I’ll never ever have it again.

No. I don’t want to think about that now while I’m rubbing my mound the way he did. My clit is so swollen, throbbing with every beat of my broken heart. I rub it in tiny circles, moaning the way I did for him.

My body is one big, buzzing nerve by the time the tension in my core increases. “Yes . . .” I whisper, throwing my head back, working myself faster, pinching one nipple while I work my clit. It’s happening, I’m going to . . . I’m going to come for him . . .

That’s all it takes for the feeling to run away like it owes me money.

“No,” I groan, so close but so far.

My fingers move faster, pressing harder, and I force myself back into the fantasy. Adrian’s voice is still so clear. “Come for me. Be a good girl. Soak me with your cum.”

My hips move until the water sloshes around, but there’s no release from the tension that’s now about to drive me out of my mind. “Dammit!” I finally have to give up when my fingers start to cramp. So much for that. Now I have the joy of being twice as frustrated as I drain the tub while quickly rinsing off under the showerhead.

I have to face it. He will only ever be a memory, never as good as the real thing. And I am never going to find somebody like Adrian again. Why didn’t I tell him how I felt at the airport, before we said goodbye? I could at least have confessed. Even if he had rejected me, I wouldn’t have to feel so much like my heart’s about to burst and there’s nothing to do with the feeling.

The worst part is not having any way to get in touch with him. I never got his number. His address. He’s probably in some other city now, anyway, getting ready to kill somebody. I really, really wish the thought of that would do anything to silence my heart’s need, but I guess I’m broken or something. I want him just as much as ever. And he’ll never know.

Or maybe . . .

I meet my gaze in the mirror while I’m washing my face. It’s a long shot, yes, but who knows? Stranger things have happened. I mean, all I have to do is remember everything we went through to know that.

I don’t even bother getting dressed, running to my desk in my bathrobe, then powering up my laptop and opening a new Word document.

If I can’t come out and tell him how I feel, maybe I can write about it. Maybe he’ll read it.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll realize he fell for me too.

Chapter Thirty-Two