“Drink,” he says. “That’s two questions.”
I skip the lime, letting the tequila burn a trail down my throat.
“Yes, and at the very least, I needed to find you and let you know how sorry I was. I never meant to hurt you, Lila. Ever.”
“I know. After thinking about it, I get why you did it. You can’t move forward with your life when the past still has you chained down. I’ve been there … not nearly as bad as you, but I’ve been there.”
He stares up at the ceiling for a few seconds before turning his attention back to me. “My turn. Do you think you’ll stay in Chicago or have you ever thought about going back home?”
“Why are you asking that?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question. That’s my question.”
“The thought crossed my mind, but I like my job and the friends I have here. It feels kind of like home, but it didn’t always feel that way.” I reflect on Charlie’s and the people I met there all the way to where I am today. There’s been days filled with regret, but overall, I’m happy to be here.
“You going to ask me a question, or do I have to drink another shot just to break the rules again?”
I slide down into the bed, pulling the blanket over my shoulder. “The painting you did the other day … what was it?”
He pours the tequila then glances over at me, downing it in one gulp. “There are some truths I can’t tell. You should know by now my truths are better categorized as secrets.”
“But it had something to do with her?”
He points to the bottle. I pour and drink.
“Yes,” he answers. “Months of intensive counseling wasn’t even enough to sort through all my shit, but at least I’m not ignoring it.”
I wish there were a star I could wish on to make his pain go away. Not even a wish on the largest constellation in the night sky could cure his heartache.
“If I had come home sooner, would I have had a chance?” he asks, sinking down in the bed until we’re eye to eye. He knows he’s making it impossible for me to skirt around the truth.
Eyes don’t easily lie to eyes.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I waited for you. Until New York, it would have been you.”
His fingers come up, gently brushing a piece of hair from my forehead. “I really fucked up with you, didn’t I?”
“Neither of us was in the right place. It wasn’t our time.”
He moves closer, brushing his thumb against my cheek. My conscience whispers but the tequila screams. “When will it be our time?”
I think about Pierce. This weekend. Everything. “It may never come, or maybe, it’s already passed.”
“I’m going to fight for you,” he declares, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at me. “I thought I could let you go if I knew it would make you happy, but after sitting alone in this apartment all weekend while you were with him, I don’t think I can do that.”
I swallow hard. “And, if you don’t win?”
“I’ve already lost, so what do I have left to lose?”
And, he’s right. He’s already lost so much that the risk is minimal.
“Pierce trusts me,” I blurt, my palms sweating against the sheets.
He leans in, kissing my cheek. “He shouldn’t trust me, not when he has the one thing I want.”
“Blake?”
He slips out of my bed without looking back, carefully closing the bedroom door behind him. He wanted the last word, and he got it.
NOT SURPRISINGLY, I OVERSLEEP. The alcohol should have made falling asleep easy last night, but instead I was left playing Blake’s words over and over.
Just when you think things are good, you find out they’re not.
I’ve already offered him more than I can give yet he wants more.
I’ve asked him to leave, but then let him stay.
I’ve tried to keep him at arms’ length but yet he keeps getting closer.
Unless I get some sort of control, this is just going to keep getting harder.
The thoughts keep coming as I ride to work. Every time things feel like they are falling into place, they unravel again. All I ever wanted was to be happy.
Maybe happiness only exists in fairytales.
I finally walk in the office two minutes after eight. I’m late for the first time in six months, and I don’t even care. Sometimes when life weighs you down, you simply stop caring.
The elevator opens to my floor, and I step out in somewhat of a trance—a mix of tired, hung-over, and confused. Monday feels like Friday, and that’s never a good sign.
A strong arm wraps around me from behind, pulling me back into a dark room. I’m ready to fight back, but his familiar scent tickles my nose, and I relax.
“You’re late.” His breath hits the back of my neck.
“I overslept. It won’t happen again.”
His fingers curl against the fabric of my navy blue shift dress. “Does your new perfume have a hint of tequila in it?” he asks.
“You don’t like it?” I ask, hiding from the truth.
“Don’t fuck with me, Ms. Fields. Who did you drink with last night because it wasn’t me?”
“Why do you have to be so smart?”
“Lila.”
I close my eyes tightly, praying for forgiveness in advance. “I may have had a few shots last night before bed.”
He spins me around in his arms, and it’s only then that I realize he pulled us into a small conference room. He has me pressed against the wall, his arms framing my face. “I’ve never known a person to do shots alone.”
Even with only the dim light showing through the partially open door, I can see his eyes. “I wasn’t alone.”
He pushes against the door until it closes then frames me in again. There’s nowhere to run. No lies to tell. “I don’t want him there alone with you. Just thinking about it is making me sick.”
I swallow my regret. I can’t do anything about what’s already been done.
“Move in with me,” he says, his lips a whisper above mine. I answer the only way I can, standing on my tiptoes to press my lips on his. I want him to forget just as much as I need to stop thinking.
He grips the back of my neck, deepening the kiss by pressing his tongue between my lips. I’m lost in him—swept away by the waves he creates from head to toe. I splay my hands on his stomach, feeling his taut muscles through his crisp dress shirt. I slide them up until my fingers meet behind his neck, curling into his hair.
“I’m not a jealous man,” he breathes as his mouth trails a path down my throat.
“Okay,” I say softly, my body aching for his.
“But you make me jealous.”
I wrap my arms tightly around his neck. “I love you,” I whisper into his ear.
He groans, lifting me until my legs are wrapped around his hips. My dress is short … it wouldn’t take much.
The door clicks, but his lips stay on me. I open my mouth, but the light comes on, warning him before I can. He looks up but doesn’t move to put me down. My cheeks burn red when I see who’s standing there.
“Sorry, Mr. Stanley,” Jane, the receptionist says, her own face turning a deep shade of red. “You asked me to bring Mr. Stone in here. I didn’t—”
“It’s okay, Jane. I’ve got it from here,” Pierce interrupts. She wastes no time before disappearing around the corner. Not that I blame her.
My face only burns hotter when I see Blake standing where she’d been. He’s not looking at Pierce … just me. The color drains from his face as he steps back, lowering his wounded eyes. I don’t want to watch, but I also can’t look away.
My chest tightens as I loosen my grip on Pierce and fight to stand on my own two feet again. He lets me, but his body is still flush with mine.
“Let me go,” I say, trying my best to make it so Blake doesn’t hear.
He does, slowly, adjusting my skirt along the way. “Now he knows,” he whispers against my ear before pulling away.
My eyes widen as I watch him take a seat at the conference room table. He looks back at me before turning his attention to Blake. There’s nothing I’d like to do more than disappear from this room, but I fear for each of their safety if I do.