Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
For me, though, things have changed. It’s no longer an act. Last night I didn’t want to go to bed alone for the first time in three years. I thought about Rey, lying in my bed , as I stayed curled up under a blanket on my couch, a tightly wound wreck of desire and guilt.
I never imagined it would be possible to want another woman the way I used to want Lily. But last night, for the first time, I did. I wasn’t a drunk guy hoping for a blow job or a quick fuck—I wanted to spend hours in my bed with Rey. I wanted to see and feel every inch of her. To wake up with her snuggled against me at sunrise and do it all over again.
I went to sleep with her on my mind and dreamed about Lily. She was alive, standing across from me in our living room crying about how she couldn’t believe I was dumping her. And when I tried to assure her I’d never do that, no words would come out of my mouth. I just had to listen to her asking me again and again why I was leaving her.
It was agonizing. I woke up sweating right before sunrise, throwing on a jacket and leaving my place to walk around and get some fresh air.
It’s been a little over two hours, and I’m running on not much sleep. When I see an open bench overlooking the water, I sit down, exhaling hard. Elbows on my knees, I put my head in my hands and take a few deep breaths of cool morning air.
Rey’s an amazing woman. She couldn’t be more different from Lily, but they do share the most important quality—a kind heart. Rey’s is fierce and strong. She fights her demons by saving children.
I see her in a new light now that I know about her parents. We’re actually a lot alike. Hockey keeps me going, and police work keeps her going. The two of us are like falling stars, passing each other as we streak through the sky. But stars don’t fall together. They end up alone, burned up and gone dark.
My phone buzzes inside my jacket pocket with a text and I pull it out.
Rey: I just woke up and can’t find you. Everything okay?
I sigh heavily, more guilt sweeping through me. I shouldn’t have just left Rey at my apartment and not said anything about where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t be there when she woke up, hair tousled and wearing my T-shirt.
Me: Hey, just out for a run.
Rey: Okay, I’m heading home. Have a good one.
Me: Thanks, you too.
She probably thinks I’m fucked in the head. Hot for her one day and then cold as ice the next. I wish I could just shut off my attraction to her. Focus on the job at hand and maybe gain a friend in the process. But my fucking body wants to be more than friends with Rey. A lot more.
I want to tell her to stay. That I’m on my way back. But if I go back to my place while she’s there, it’s only going to make things worse.
I’ve had sex a couple times since Lily died. It was a different woman each time, and both happened after long nights of drinking. I felt like the physical urge to fuck had just built up in me so hard that I had to scratch the itch. And then it was done and I just went on with my life.
This, though—what I feel for Rey—is different. I want to kiss the back of her neck as I zip up her dress before taking her out to dinner at a nice restaurant. I want to look up during every home game I play and see her watching me. I want to take her out to every Cuban restaurant in the city and find out which place serves her favorite food. Hell, I want to take her to Miami for a weekend of late nights and early mornings, exploring all the Cuban places there, too.
And that’s what I feel so goddamn guilty about. I’ve only ever shared that kind of intimacy with Lily. She was my best friend. My ride or die. And I feel like a villain for wanting that kind of relationship with anyone else.
Suddenly, the stress gives way to fatigue. I’m tired, and not just physically. I open the Uber app on my phone and order a ride. When a dark sedan pulls up to get me, I slide in silently.
The driver meets my eyes in the rearview mirror but doesn’t say a word. We ride all the way to my place in silence, the only word between us the “thanks” I mutter as I get out of his car. He’s getting a good tip, because that’s just what I needed—a quiet ride home. No questions.