Текст книги "The Game Plan"

Автор книги: Kristen Callihan

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“I’m not shocked.” I kind of love how easily she reads me. “I admit it. I want to take your pain and make it better.”

Stretching up, Fi kisses my jaw. My beard makes it impossible for me to feel more than the pressure of her lips. I want more. I want to imprint her on my skin. I turn toward her and lower my head.

I kiss her softly, tenderly, wanting her to know how precious she is.

Fi smiles against my lips. “You want to make it better, Big Guy? When we get upstairs, make me forget the world for a little while.”

The cab pulls up in front of her apartment. I thread my fingers through her hair, holding it secure. “Cherry, that was always part of the plan.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fiona

Born of the desperate need to keep our hands off each other, Dex and I stand on opposite sides of the elevator going up to my apartment. The main deterrent to any shenanigans is the fact that Mrs. Flannery, my sixty-something widowed neighbor, stands between us.

She stares straight ahead, her crimson-painted lips twitching. It’s as if she knows exactly how much Dex and I are itching to touch each other, which wouldn’t surprise me since her sex life is far more active than mine has been until now. I’ve caught her in many an elevator embrace. Honestly, the woman is my sexcapade hero.

Over her head, Dex’s eyes meet mine. The heated look he sends makes my breath quicken. But then he pushes it over the edge; he makes a total goofball—crossed eyes, pointed tongue—face at me.

It’s gone in a flash, but so very un-Dex-like that I snort down a laugh. My eyes water as I try to contain it.

Mrs. Flannery glances at me. “You coming down with a cold, dear?”

Coughing over a snicker, I clear my throat and stand straight. “I might be.”

Her smile is serene. “I’m sure your young man here will take good care of you.”

Dex waggles his brows behind her back. Ass.

Mrs. Flannery leans toward me, her voice dropping into a pseudo-whisper. “It’s always the big, quiet ones, isn’t it?”

Ha. Solemnly, I nod. “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

The elevator reaches her floor. As soon as the doors close behind her, I launch myself at Dex, poking his ribs as he laughs and tries to get away from my marauding finger.

“She totally knows we’re going to have sex,” I tell him, laughing but trying to be outraged.

His arms circle me, bands of steel that lean me onto his hard chest. “Of course she does.” He kisses my temple. “Considering that she groped my ass right before we got on the elevator, I’d say she approves of your choice.”

“What? That little sneak.”

He grins wide. “You actually look pissed.”

“Of course I am.” I’m not really, but still. My hand drifts down to his awesome ass. Seriously, his butt is like warm granite. “Your ass is mine, Ethan Dexter.”

“I promise you can play with it later.”

Because I want “later” to happen sooner, I all but push him down the hall when the elevator doors open on my floor.

When we reach my apartment door, Dex presses against me from behind, his forearms braced on either side of my head. “Tell me you live alone.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I live alone.”

He lets out a gusty breath, and his lips trail along the sensitive skin of my neck, his beard tickling. “Good.” The hard length of his cock nudges my ass. “Open the door, Cherry.”

My hands fumble with the key, and then I’m stumbling into my apartment—oh, so graceful of me. Laughing a bit, I turn, expecting Dex to grab me, give me the kiss I know we both want.

But he doesn’t.

He stalks me instead, his steps steady, his gaze hot. And it sets my pulse racing as I walk backwards, keeping my eyes on him.

A slow, evil smile spreads across his lips. “Keep going.”

The low, drawling command works like a band around my middle, constricting my breath, clenching my belly. I edge away until my butt hits the dining table. Trapped.

My inner thighs draw up in anticipation. My clit is so swollen I feel it there, this hot button of need that craves his touch.

He stops in front of me, so tall it’s almost overwhelming, and yet comforting because I know he’ll use his size and strength to protect me. Without saying a word, he sinks to his knees, then sits back on his heels. But his gaze never leaves mine. His voice turns deep. “Show me where it hurts, Cherry.”

A breath puffs out of me, my nipples going tight. Oh, holy hell. His words make the aching emptiness between my legs clench with sweet pain. Never looking away from him, I find the flaring edge of my wool skirt and raise it high, bunching it around my hips.

His attention flicks to my panties, and his entire body seems to sway. With utter care, he grasps the sides and slowly lowers them. I watch them go, watch his rapt expression as he exposes me. His nostrils flare, as if he’s breathing me in.

It should unnerve me, but the strong flush that rises over his cheeks and the way his chest moves with every panting breath sends a wave of heat through me. I spread my legs, wanting more of his all-consuming attention.

He swallows hard, his gaze growing fierce. The heat of his hands covers my thighs, his fingers curling around them, pressing gently as he parts my legs further.

“Most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasps.

I can only stand there, my sweaty palms clutching my skirt, my thighs trembling beneath his grasp. I’m so wet now, the air on my sex feels cool, makes me shiver.

Then he lifts one hand and those big, brutish fingers delicately part my folds. My knees go weak. I think I whimper. I can’t tell because my attention is all on Ethan, on the way he slowly leans forward, his lush lips parted and his brows knitted in utter concentration.

God, he looks gorgeous, all the bold lines of his face taut and flushed. His lips press against my clit, and a groan tears from him, his whole body trembling. My breath leaves in a whoosh, but I don’t get to recover because he’s licking my sex with long, lingering strokes, his lips sucking and nuzzling.

“Oh, fucking hell, Cherry.” He licks deeper, slower.

So intent. But never frantic.

He’s savoring me. That, more than anything, has me so hot I break out in a sweat, struggle to find my breath. The low, almost helpless moans he makes, the soft gasps when he has to take a breath before coming at me again, eating me out like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted—it’s almost better than what he’s doing to me.

Almost, because, damn. He might be a novice at this, but he’s making up for lost time. Strong lips, warm tongue, and that beard. Holy fuck, that beard. Soft, prickly, it adds another level of sensation, so good—so naughty-good—that I circle my hips, chasing the feel of it brushing my clit, tickling my inner thighs.

It’s too much. I lean against my dining room table, afraid I’ll fall or maybe pass out. I don’t know. I can’t think straight.

And then I see his arm moving. Oh, God. Somewhere along the way, he’s undone his jeans and pulled his cock free. His erection is enormous, ruddy and angry. He palms his dick, tugging at it with rough, rude jerks.

When he runs his thumb over the glistening crown of his cock, toying with the sliver piercing, the sight is so illicit, I come without warning, my knees giving out. A little wail leaves my lips as I sink into the sensation. “Ethan.”

He’s rising, gathering me up.

I wrap my legs around his waist, rub my aching sex against the crinkly hairs at the base of his cock. “Ethan.” My lips find his. He tastes of sex. My kiss is frantic, little gasps still leaving me. “Now. Ethan. Now.”

Big hands palm my ass. He lifts me high and then thrusts, going in deep. He groans into my mouth. “Oh, fuck yes.”

I can only hold, my arms wrapped around his thick neck, as he pumps hard and fast, bouncing me on his cock. Every time his hips impact with mine, I feel a shockwave through my body, a flare of pleasure-pain in my clit. Every stroke of that little metal ball on his cock sends a rush of bliss through me.

“More,” I tell him. “Give me more.” Give me everything.

And he does, driving into me until I scream his name, my body arching tight against his as I come again—so hard my vision dims.

He comes with me, his teeth clamping on my shoulder as he gushes, hot and wet within my body. The aftermath leaves us both shaking and panting. I rest my head on his big shoulder, shivering so hard my stomach aches.

He walks us to the bedroom with lumbering steps, weaving a bit as if he’s drunk.

Oddly, I feel like crying. My throat hurts and my eyes prickle. The feeling only intensifies when he lays me down in my bed, his softening cock still deep within me, his hard arms holding me close against him. I don’t know which way is up or down anymore. The only thing that feels real and true is Ethan—the man I can only have in stolen moments of time.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Fiona

“Smile for the camera.” My grin is goofy and wide.

Dex makes a laughing noise of protest and tries to wave me off. “Get away from me with that thing. I’m all pictured out.”

We’re lying in bed, having a well-earned rest, and I’ve been amusing myself taking multiple shots of Dex. He pretends to be annoyed, but I know better. He can’t hide the smile in his eyes or the curve of his lips.

“If you don’t want me messing with the phone, put a password on this sucker, babe.” I take yet another photo. The image of his big, wide hand fills the screen. “Aw, man. You messed it up.”

He sighs. “Cherry, I do not need naked pictures of myself on my phone.”

With a move so quick I don’t have time to blink, he snatches the phone away and hauls me close. “Here,” he says, holding the phone high with an outstretched arm. “If we’re doing this, you’re going to be in them.”

“You say that like I’d protest.”

We take more pictures, laughing over the results. I pause at a shot of me licking Dex’s tight little nipple. “Here’s one for my wallet.”

“Did you just quote Parenthood?” His smile is relaxed and happy. I love seeing him this way, without walls, just being himself.

“I didn’t take you for an eighties’ movie buff.”

Dex shrugs. “The guys watch a lot of cable on the road.”

“Well, bonus points for noticing, Big Guy.”

“Mmm… And what do I get as my prize?” He rolls over, taking me with him.

Much, much later, I relax against him with a sigh. “Do you think we ever truly figure out who we are?” My voice is soft.

At my side he moves, lifting his head to rest it in the cradle of his palm. “Well, now,” he drawls, “let me see if I can help you out. I’m Ethan, and you are Fiona.”

“Har.” I give his chest a lazy smack. “You know what I mean. Or maybe you don’t.” I stroke the edge of his collarbone. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone who knows their own mind as well as you do.”

He rolls his eyes, but sets his hand on my hip, caressing and edging me closer. “Babe, I hate every fucking second of getting tatted. I hate needles with a passion, yet I get a cortisone shot after nearly every practice and game. The ones in the hands skeeve me out so badly I have to look away or risk fainting.”

At this I take his hand in mine. It isn’t pretty: battered, swollen knuckles; scrapes and callouses; the middle finger crooking inward as if it’s been broken one too many times. A warrior’s hand.

Those long, scarred fingers wrap over my smaller ones with a gentle hold, and I lift his hand to my lips to kiss his reddened knuckles.

Behind the veil of his lashes, he watches me do it. “I hate those things, and yet look at me. Tatted, pierced, and a pro football player. Fact is, I run to the pain. Part of me gets off on it. So while I might know my mind, I’ve clearly got my own issues.”

He doesn’t look embarrassed by this. No, his eyes shine in good humor. Which makes all the difference and only proves my point. He knows himself in a way I don’t know myself; I envy that.

The blunt tip of his thumb, the one with a bruised nail, brushes the crest of my cheek. “Why do you ask about knowing yourself, Fi?”

With a sigh, I fall back against the pillows and stare up at my ceiling. “I don’t want to go back to work.”

“So don’t.”

A loud snort blows through my lips. “It isn’t that simple.”

“Course it is. You’re miserable there. So leave.”

A glance his way reveals that he’s absolutely serious.

“This from a football player? I thought you guys were always about never giving up. Mental and physical endurance is key, blah, blah, blah.”

He flashes a quick smile. “Blah, blah, blah? Nice to know we players are so eloquent.” His smile falls. “You also forgot ‘Don’t play the game unless you’re one-hundred-percent commented.’ Which really just means, if you don’t love it, get out. It isn’t worth the pain, otherwise.”

“If I leave, she wins.”

Dex looks at me for a moment with that stare of his that I always feel down to my bones. When he speaks, his voice is steady, thoughtful. “Winning is a subjective thing, Fi.”

“Again, I can’t believe a professional football player would say that.”

He chuckles. “If anyone is an expert on the subject of winning and losing, it’s an athlete. Last year we lost out on the NFC championship based on one loss. On a fucked-up foul that the refs got wrong, made a bad call. That shit burned, Fi.” His expression stays calm, but his eyes fill with ire. “Even now, when I think about it I want to punch something. And you better believe those fuckers on the other team taunted us without shame. Didn’t matter that they won on a technicality. Scoreboard was all they needed.”

Slowly, he reaches out and cups my jaw. “Darlin’, that shit happens all the time. I know from personal, painful experience that winning doesn’t necessarily make a person the best. Sometimes, it just makes them lucky.”

“Well,” I say, still full of petulance and resentment, “that bitch will get even luckier if I leave.”

“Nope. Hell, one day she might become the most successful designer in New York—”

“Not helping.”

“But it will be based on nothing but her own insecurity. While you?” He leans in and gives me a soft, lingering kiss. “Have true talent and will be happily serviced by yours truly.”

I have to laugh at that. But it dies quickly, and I flop an arm over my hot forehead. “You don’t understand.”

“So educate me.”

“I’m a fuck-up.”

“Fi…”

“It’s true. Almost every plan I start—and believe me, I always have a plan—goes off the rails at some point.”

“You’re describing the majority of the population, Cherry.”

“Do your plans fail?”

Dex’s wide mouth goes tight as if he’s annoyed at me. But the look he gives me is tender. The bed creaks as he pulls me into his embrace, tucking me against his side. “I planned to stay away from you.” The rough tip of his thumb caresses my lower lip. “Best failed plan of my life.”

“Ethan.” His heart beats strong against the wide wall of his chest, and I give him a soft kiss there. Sighing, I rest my cheek on his shoulder. “It’s just…I’ve always dreamed big and have never been afraid to tell anyone and everyone about my big dreams. Except my dreams often change—here one day, alive and bright with all these possibilities, then dead and on to the next something new.”

I glance up at his solemn eyes. “Unfortunately my exuberance has made me into the Girl Who Cried Dreams. And my friends and family no longer believe me when I latch on to a new passion. I don’t blame them, but I’m tired of seeing people give me that tight, slightly patronizing, slightly irritated smile. I don’t want to be viewed as a quitter anymore.”

“Fuck what other people believe. Do you think you’re a quitter?”

“I told you. I never stick to anything.” My fingertip traces a longitude line on his collarbone. I love the way his skin pebbles under my touch. “I changed my major three times before I settled on art and design, and even then, my eye was always roving.”

Dex shifts a bit, his hip canting as my nail scrapes his tight nipple. His voice is gruff, a sure sign of him being turned on. But he runs his hand over my shoulder, stroking me. “Why did you keep changing?”

For a second, I simply play with his nipple, worrying it this way and that, because it turns me on too, the way he reacts, his breath growing heavier, his cock getting thick again. “I don’t know.”

In a blink, I’m on my back, my wrists held overhead in Dex’s massive hand. With a low grunt, he settles between my legs and hovers over me, the long strands of his hair tickling my cheeks. “Now ordinarily,” he says in a low, smooth voice, “I love your particular method of avoiding hard questions.”

“Oh, really?” I challenge, opening my legs wider so that his hard cock notches between the slick lips of my sex. A low hum of pleasure runs through me.

“Really.” He shifts his hip slightly, rubbing his hardness over my sensitive flesh just enough to tease. “Thing is, I want an answer before I fuck you.”

God. He’s a wall around me, unrelenting, hot. I want all that strength pounding into me. I think I whimper. I know I wiggle my hips, trying to seek him out. “Why is it so important to you?”

His eyes are dark now, seeing more than he should. “It’s important to you.” He rocks against me, sending little shivers of sweet lust rippling outward. “Answer the question, Cherry. Why…” He slides up, “…did you…” A down stroke. “…keep changing majors?”

I lick my dry lips. “They never felt right.”

“Mmm…” He moves again, the rounded crown of his meaty cock stretching my opening. Slowly, with a smooth glide, he sinks in.

And I lift my hips, my legs parting wider, as if this can somehow give him more room. He fills me so good, I can barely focus. But Dex’s eyes are on me, his lips hovering just over mine. “You wanted to be happy.”

“Uh-huh…” I can’t really concentrate, not when he’s gently easing in and out of my swollen flesh, his lips taking mine with soft, slow kisses.

He nuzzles me as he talks and fucks. “You seek joy in your life, don’t you, Cherry?”

I shudder, my fingers curling around his hand. He still has me pinned. “Yes.”

He smiles against my mouth. “You were never quitting. You were searching.”

Despite what he’s doing to me, my attention snares on his words. He pauses, his cock deep inside me, his brilliant eyes wide open. Searching for joy.

A laugh bubbles up within me, and I crane my neck to reach his mouth. I kiss him as deeply as I can while I’m still laughing. And he grins against my lips, our breath mingling.

“Fuck me, Ethan,” I tell him, not letting him go. “And give me some more of that joy.”

He nips my lower lip, his grin still wide. “Yes, ma’am.”

And he does. He does it so well, I’m limp and breathless when we finish. I should move, get cleaned up, offer him dinner, something. But I can only lie against him, draped over his solid body like a sweaty girl blanket, and just drift.

“Aren’t you scared?” I whisper after a time. “I flit from boyfriend to boyfriend too.”

I don’t know why I’m saying this. Maybe I want to test him. Maybe I just want to know he believes in me. All I know for sure is that trickles of ice-cold fear run down my spine at the thought of ever ending things with Dex.

Rolling me to his side, he peers down, those eyes of his searching my face. His teeth flash, framed by his pirate’s beard. “Nope. That was just another search.” He leans in, nips my ear. “The search is over, Cherry Pie.”

“Ugh. Do not refer to me as pie!” When he just chuckles darkly, I have to smile. “You’re kind of arrogant, you know that?”

“Mmm…” The calloused pad of his thumb strokes my nipple. “Think we covered that.” I shiver. He does it again, slowly. “Abuse my character all you like; you know I’m right.”

God, I love the way he touches me, love the dark, rumbly quality of his voice. I even love his unfailing confidence in all things Us.

My palm slides down his back to the hard swell of his ass. I really love his ass. It’s massive, rock hard. The ass of a titan. Laughing a little at that thought, I give it a squeeze, earning a deep grunt from him.

“Yeah,” I say with a small smile as I feel him up. “I think you just might be.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Fiona

We sleep wrapped up in each other, my smaller legs clinging to Dex’s like vines. Dead to the world until sunlight slants across the bed and shines in our eyes. Dex tries to shield us by turning on his side and tucking me into the crook of his shoulder, but it’s too late. I’m awake, and real life is upon us once more.

Grumbling about buying darker drapes, I crawl over him, earning a light slap on my butt as I go to get us some coffee.

When I return, Dex is on his back, his head propped up by pillows. The sight makes me pause at the threshold of my room. Sun-kissed, golden brown hair spilled over white linen; lush, dark beard and pouty mouth; colorful tattoos on swelling, rolling muscles. Good God, it’s like a burly pirate landed in my bed and is waiting for another round of debauchery.

Ridiculous fantasies of me pillaging his willing flesh dance in my head, and I fight a snicker. The sound catches his attention, and his mouth slowly curls.

“Look your fill yet, darlin’?”

The silver barbell in his nipple winks in the light as he moves to take his cup.

“I don’t think it’s possible to get my fill.” I slide in beside him, where it’s warm and wonderful. “I’m thinking we get you a couple of chunky rings, maybe a do-rag and a cutlass, and we can play capture-the-pirate later.”

Dex grunts, his hazel eyes gleaming in obvious pleasure. “Tell you what, you put on one of your sweet little lacy getups, I’ll let you tie me to the bed, and you can work over my mast all you want.”

He gives me an exaggerated leer, and we both burst out laughing.

I press my nose against his shoulder. “God, that was terrible.”

“You started it.” He chuckles, the sound deep and yet light with ease.

We drink coffee under the covers, then he puts the cups aside so I can snuggle in close once more.

Despite our goofiness, or maybe because of it, a heavy weight settles under my ribs and a lump lodges in my throat.

I run my hand over his chest, the dusting of hair between his pecs tickling my palm. “When is your flight?” We didn’t get to the particulars last night. But I know he isn’t here for long. And, as much as I hate it, I have to go to work soon.

His chest lifts on a sigh. “In a few hours.”

“Oh.” I’d hoped for more. At least one more night.

Dex swallows hard and glances toward the window. Sunlight lines the curve of his cheek and glints gold on the tips of his lashes. “I should have waited until I had more time freed up.” He turns back to me. “But you were upset. I could hear it in your voice when we talked. So I jumped on a plane.”

My fingers spread wide over the center of his chest. He came for me. I’m always being left behind, and Dex will do that too, but he also dropped everything and came here for me. No one has ever done that.

The lump within my throat grows. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I…you…” I take a ragged breath and press my lips to the hard plane of his chest. “It means a lot, Ethan.”

He doesn’t answer, but I can feel him nod. The room goes silent, awkward and heavy with the weight of his eventual departure.

Dex takes a deep breath and rolls away from me, sitting up at the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched and his head bent low. He doesn’t say anything, just stays quiet, his profile drawn tight with a frown.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting up as well.

He doesn’t stir, and for a second, I think he hasn’t heard me. Then his frown deepens. “I don’t want to tell you.”

“What?” I squeak, shocked and offended. “So the whole, ‘you can tell me anything’ speech only applies to me baring my soul? Great. Lovely.”

He winces. The thick muscles along his back bunch and flex as he runs his hands through his loose hair. “I don’t feel like I have a right to, Fi.” His voice lowers to a rumble. “I hate this.”

The words send my heart thudding against my ribs. “Hate this?”

“Leaving you,” he says, waving an arm toward the door. A sigh gusts from his lips. “I know I’m the one who pushed for a long-distance relationship. I asked you to trust me to make it work. But the thought of constantly leaving you eats at me. I don’t want to.”

The bed creaks as he half turns and his eyes find mine. His expression is sad, troubled. “I hate how I found you in pain. The idea that you have to face this shit alone just…” He bites his lower lip and shakes his head. “Fucking sucks, Fi.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I crawl toward him. His skin is hot and smooth, and I press my breasts against his back, wrapping my arms around his waist to soak up all that wonderful heat.

Dex immediately puts his hand over mine, his touch almost needy.

“I know,” I say, my lips gliding over his skin. “I don’t want you to go either.”

He shivers, as if his entire body is protesting the thought, and his grip on my hand tightens. But he doesn’t say anything, simply holds on.

Sadness sinks into my bones, weighing me down. “This…” I clear my throat. “This is why I tried to stay away.”

Dex stills, his body going rigid. I hear him swallow, feel the ripple of his muscles. “You want to call it quits?”

I can’t breathe. My ribs actually hurt, as if they’ve clamped down over my heart. “Is that what you want?” I ask in a small voice.

I forget how quick Dex can be. I barely see him turn before I’m lifted up and hauled onto his lap. Thick arms band around me, crushing me against a solid, wide chest. A soft whisper of chest hairs tickles my nose.

“No,” he nearly shouts, then calms. “No, Cherry.” Gently he kisses the top of my head. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything. I’m just feeling selfish and petulant.”

I smile against his chest and snuggle in closer. “I’m feeling a little that way myself. It’s okay, baby.”

Dex grunts, but his hold turns softer, petting me now instead of clutching. His big, calloused hand runs down my back. “From the first moment I picked up a football, I’ve been dreaming about playing in the NFL. God, I wanted it so badly. The promise that one day I’d go pro kept me going through every dark hour.” His hand slows, climbing back up to my nape to rest. “Now that I’m here…” He shakes his head. “It’s a lonely life, Fi. They never tell you that.”

“What?” I quip, my voice thick. “It isn’t all fast cars and willing women?”

Women I will punt if I catch them touching my man.

I can almost feel him smile and wonder if he knows the direction of my thoughts.

“If you want only one woman, the rest is just noise.”

He gets a kiss on his big pec for that, and his little nipple draws tight in response. I’m tempted to play with it, torture him a bit. But his words give me pause.

“I just…I thought I’d be happier at this point,” he says. “Content, maybe.”

Lifting my head, I meet his troubled gaze. It would be so easy to encourage him to quit. I can feel it in my skin. Part of him wants that prompt, for me to give him a reason.

The power I have over him hurts my heart. It might unnerve me except that I suspect he has a similar power over me.

I could do it, tell him to quit, to try something that doesn’t put him at risk of concussions and spinal injuries, that doesn’t send him away from me every week. I could have all of him without having to compete with football.

“Do you love the game?” I ask him.

“Always,” he says without hesitation.

“Then, as you said, it’s worth it.” I kiss the crook of his neck, where his skin is smooth as fine satin. He loves that spot, and shivers now, pressing his cheek to the top of my head.

“Fi, I promised you honesty. Truth is, my desire to have you blinded me to the hard fact that these short moments are all we can have during the season. When I’m not playing, I’m practicing, reviewing footage, working out, eating, sleeping. Free time is a myth.”

He looks down at me, and there’s pain in his eyes. “I wanted to give you more. But I can’t. And I don’t know what to do about that.”

I’ve always known this. It was what I expected when I let him into my life. I kiss him again, putting all my faith in him, in us, behind it. “Live your dream, Ethan. We’ll find a way to make it less lonely.”

But even as I make the promise, the fear that we’re both lying to ourselves remains. Because it’s clear this relationship isn’t working the way we need it to, and something will have to give before it breaks.