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I don’t look in Declan’s direction under any circumstance. I pointedly turn away when I hear him talking across the office. Learn the tread and rhythm of his step so I can be somewhere else when he passes by. I try to gather up memories and feelings in my mind and shove them behind a door in my brain that closes and locks.
I fail, accidentally catching Declan’s eye one afternoon while meeting with Andrea in the glass-encased conference room. The way he redirects his attention as quickly as possible tells me that he’s doing the exact same thing to me—trying to cram anything he might feel for me into a box and securing the lid.
It makes me feel heavy. Too heavy to function. And my head is on its way down to rest on the conference table when Andrea grabs me by the arm and gives me a shake, making me remember where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing.
Excelling at this job.
Forgetting about Declan Wright.
“What’s going on with you, seriously?” Andrea demands, her face a picture of concern. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’ I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but I know enough to realize that you’ve been acting weird lately.”
Panic makes me pull myself together—panic over the real cause of my weirdness, which is a secret she can’t know. Nobody in this office can know.
The easiest lie is the one closest to the truth, though, so I just plunge forward.
“I’ve been kind of seeing someone,” I blurt out. “It’s not working out though. I don’t really want to get into it. I’ve been trying to distract myself with work.”
“Well, you can stop that immediately,” Andrea says, squeezing my hand. “You’re making all of us look bad, and it’s just a matter of time before Hannah shanks you in the restroom for getting all the glory she thinks she’s entitled to.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, but Andrea is even quicker, shaking her head.
“No, no, you don’t have to apologize for anything. Dating sucks. It’s better to talk about it. Was it that coffee guy?”
My heart sinks at the reminder that Declan is the one responsible for David not being around anymore. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t think David was right for me. It’s Declan’s meddling that feels worse.
“No, not the coffee guy,” I say, feeling like I hesitated a little too long. “There weren’t butterflies with the coffee guy. There was someone new, but he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.”
“Ugh. I’m going to say it again just so you can know how serious I am: dating sucks,” Andrea declares. “Have I told you about the four times I’ve shown up for a date based on mutual attraction on an app and a photo on a screen just for the guy to be someone completely different? It sucks!”
I laugh even though I don’t mean to. “I’m sorry. That does suck—I mean, it really does. Suck. Everything. Dating, especially.”
“Guess what, though?” Andrea asks, leaning closer to me. “I’m still going out on another date this weekend though. You know why? Because I’m not about to give up. I know the right guy is out there for me, and that he’s out there trying to find me too.”
“I hope you’re right,” I tell her. “And I hope you find him this weekend.”
“And if I don’t, I’m just going to get right back on the horse and try again,” Andrea says. “You want me to send you an invitation for the app? They’re doing some kind of deal on referrals—we’ll both get the chance to see everyone who looked at our profile for like a week.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” I admit. It honestly sounds like a nightmare.
“Then maybe you should give coffee guy a second chance,” she reasons. “Maybe the butterflies you were hoping to have with him were still caterpillars in their cocoons, waiting to emerge.”
“I don’t know…”
“Look, it’s disappointing when something you were trying out doesn’t end up working,” Andrea says. “But don’t hold out hope for some loser who doesn’t want to be with you. That coffee guy hooked you up with like hundreds of dollars’ worth of free lavender lattes. Trust me. He wanted you.”
“He was really sweet,” I agree, but I’m not thinking about David.
God help me, I’m still thinking about Declan.
* * *
I wake up suddenly, the sound of my own moan echoing in my bedroom, sheets damp with sweat and tangled around my legs.
Between my legs, I’m throbbing. Needy and unsatisfied.
I’m panting like I’ve been running down the streets of New York, and it takes me a minute to figure out what’s happened to me.
I almost just came.
