Was she joking? Was this a prank? I blinked. And blinked again. Just to make sure I’d heard her right and this wasn’t some nightmare I had agreed to partake in.
Addison left me high and dry in our friends’ driveway without another glance in my direction. She. Fucking. Left.
Stunned, with mixed emotions brewing inside me, I watched her until the car turned the corner, and I lost sight of her taillights. With heavy steps, I trudged to my rental parked on the side of the road, kicking clouds of dust around me.
With a hand clutching the door frame, I glanced back in the direction she disappeared. Just in case she realized she’d spoken nonsense and decided to come back and explain herself.
I waited. One. Two. Ten minutes.
Nothing.
Twenty-four hours ago, we were both eager at the idea of finally being together again. And now, out of nowhere, she rambled about getting attached, panicked, and drove away.
I had my fingers inside her pussy hours ago, and back then, she didn’t seem to be against the idea of us.
I plugged my dead phone into the charger. One text message pinged.
Addison: I’m sorry.
With my palm, I hit the steering wheel. The worst was that I wasn’t even mad at her. Not really. I was angry at the circumstances.
We spent countless hours on the phone over the course of the last few weeks. And each time we met in person, we refrained from having sex when we shared a bed. Even if we were both ripping at the seams in such proximity. And cuddled all night. Because that was the only closeness we indulged in. My dick sprang to wood in my pants, and I pushed it down. “Not tonight, buddy.” Addison Wilde was the girl we both craved.
Driving to the outskirts of town, I booked a room in the only hotel around. Padding to the sixth floor using the stairs—I really needed to expel my frustration—I fumbled with the key card, my nerves getting the best of me. How much would I pay for a gym right now to exhaust my body and mind? Waiting for some miracle, a call, or a message, I didn’t shower and lay on my bed, still dressed.
With my eyes closed, I played the last month and a half in my head. Where did I go wrong? Where did I miss a hint?
Nothing. I came up with nothing that could explain Addison backing out on us. Us. Why did I keep using this word? We were friends with benefits with no benefits. Not a couple. Not a thing. Just people enjoying each other inside and outside the bedroom. But without sex.
Yet, something felt like a mistake. My skin tingled. My stomach roiled. All signs I was missing something right in front of me.
With my phone in hand, I read her last message again.
Addison: I’m sorry.
“Me too, sweetheart.”
I imagined a life without her. Or with her only being partially in it. Living in different states and barely having time to meet anymore. Not being each other’s last call of the day.
I saw her, clearly as if she were beside me right now, holding hands with another guy. Kissing him. Fucking him.
Cold chills awoke on my nape.
Hell rose inside me.
A lump clogged my airways.
Sweat beaded on my temples.
I held my breath, thinking the sting would go away. That the hand tightening around my heart would let go. But it didn’t. Instead, it squeezed harder.
As if someone had cut my air intake. My sole source of oxygen.
Then it hit me. Like a tidal wave, it crashed over me, seizing my airways. Emotions I had pushed down most of my life resurfaced. The sound of an internal alarm rang in my head.
I put my hands over my ears, trying to quiet all the evidence I was losing my mind. Big time.
My lips parted as I tried to express the words I feared. But they refused to pass the threshold of my mouth.
Could this be real?
Could I be that guy?
No. I shook my head. It was all a nightmare. A cry escaped my mouth. Darkness fell upon me.
Why couldn’t I wake up?
I searched for an exit, an out. Nothing.
Springing to a sitting position, I ran a hand over my face, my lungs collapsing as I sucked a breath in. The burn wouldn’t dissipate.
Was I asleep?
Was it all a dream?
My eyes perused the room.
It took a second for me to recall where I was.
Grabbing my phone, I looked at the time. Only minutes had passed since I lay on this bed.
What was going on with me?
I exhaled. My body shook with the realization.
Addison: I’m sorry.
My eyes were taken hostage by her words, flashing as if they were neon signs.
Sweeping through the pictures I took in the last six weeks, I stopped to look at every one of them where we were together. And the ones I snapped of her when she wasn’t looking.
“Wilde, I’m in love with you.”
The words left my mouth by themselves. And this time, they didn’t hurt. They only sent a charge to my heart.
“I love you,” I told a picture of her, wearing her Honky-Tonks purple jersey, focused on the game that night.
Jumping to my feet, I grabbed the car keys I’d discarded when I got in, only to retreat to sit on my bed again, my elbows propped on my knees and my face buried in my hands.
I couldn’t go to her without a strategy. Some well-thought-out plan.
She was clearly emotional tonight, and I couldn’t just spill the words to her like that. Without making sure she was in the right set of mind to receive them.
Fear crippled me. How would Addison ever believe I spoke the truth? She had been played by losers too many times already. And I’d been professing my non-commitment to her since the moment we met.
I peeled my clothes off, my body igniting.
Under a stream of cold water, I showered, hoping it would calm the jitters in my stomach and put order into my thoughts. I was Tucker Philips. I didn’t do love. I didn’t even have an idea what a committed relationship would ask of me.
I repeated the words, loving how they sounded and was getting used to them. “I love you, Addison Wilde.” Blood flowed to my dick because he enjoyed her as much as I did.
I curled a fist around the girth, working him until I couldn’t stop, and shooting my release became my only way out of the tornado I found myself spinning in.
Tremors shook my body.
I pumped myself faster.
I jerked my head back, cold water cascading down my face, the muscles of my jaw taut.
Prickles built in my spine.
My balls ached.
I increased the pace of my hand around my shaft.
My forehead banged on the wall, my lungs struggling to inhale any fresh air.
With one last flick of my wrist, I let go.
My load sprayed the floor, and some of my apprehension left me.
Oxygen made its way back to my brain.
My shoulders dipped forward.
Jesus, I was in love.
Bare ass, I went back to bed, tossed and turned for hours before I surrendered myself to sleep. In my dreams, I wished I could test run the idea of an us. Followed by a heartfelt conversation with the woman who had inserted herself into my heart and stolen a chunk—rather the whole organ—without warning me.