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Stop being paranoid, I tell myself. You’ve been fine. A wet dream won’t kill you.
I splash my face with cold water. Open the bathroom cabinet, look at the bottles of pills.
Close it again.
I’m fine.
“Your mom would have wanted you to have a full life.”
Christ. Why can’t I get my father’s words out of my head?
Or the memory of kissing Brylee. It’s been playing on a loop since that day, threatening my sanity. She tasted of chocolate and sexy woman, and what she said…
“No one has kissed me.”
I was her first. The thought shouldn’t get me all worked up every time it echoes in my head, shouldn’t get me all hard and possessive.
But it does. It seems I have no control over the caveman side of me. I want to be her first, the first to kiss her, touch her, fuck her, claim that sweet pussy as my own.
I wonder if I’d be Riddick’s first, too.
I bow my head and groan. “Listen to yourself, Ryan. Jesus Christ.”
Maybe it’s the stress at work and no sign of a day off.
My supervisor mentioned something about a promotion, but first I have to prove myself, apparently. More than usual. I have more cases than ever, work has been piling up, and the weekend is looming like a nightmare instead of an oasis of relaxation and rest.
And I haven’t talked to my father since our argument last time. He called me a few times. I found the missed calls. I never called back. In fact, I texted him to let him know I wouldn’t make it to our weekly lunch this week.
What the hell am I doing?
My heart starts pounding again, and I curse as I grab the razor to shave myself. My hand is shaking.
I put the razor back down.
I’m okay. Everything’s okay.
Half of the battle is believing. Hey, I’m working on it…
***
I’m out of the office a lot, in meetings and more meetings. Once, when I get back behind my desk, I find a small cardboard box decorated with hearts under some paperwork in front of my computer, and my heart misses a beat, thinking it might be from Brylee.
Stupid reaction.
Inside are little black things that look like charcoal—or maybe fossils? I sniff one, and am surprised to discover there’s a faint scent of cinnamon to them.
That reminds me again of Brylee, and I resolve to ask my often-absent office-mate if he saw Brylee bring this box in, but then I get buried under a ton of work again and besides, he doesn’t come back.
Later, as I pass by, I find a note stuck to his keyboard: “In meetings.”
Looks like I’m not the only one getting overworked around here.
Despite the endless tasks piled on top of me, I take off to the gym later in the afternoon, and won’t admit to myself that it’s not just for the exercise.
That I hope to see Brylee, or Riddick.
And what will you do if you see them? You kissed her and freaked out so badly you locked yourself up in the bathroom.
