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But I still hate it.
8
Bella
After I organize my clothes, I move into the main room.
Joel is still on the balcony, but he's no longer on his cell. He has his palms pressed against the railing. His body is turned towards the ocean.
God, that's a beautiful view. I cross the room until I'm in front of the balcony's sliding glass door. My hand goes to the metal handle, but I can't bring myself to join him.
There's something in his expression.
He's hurting.
Over that phone call?
My stomach flip-flops. I want to know what it is that's hurting him. And I want to wipe it away. Not the way I normally do—not by contorting myself into whatever shape will please him most.
I want to be the shoulder he can cry on.
The person who listens.
Who understands him.
Who really cares.
I've never felt like that about anyone. I cared about my college boyfriend, Stan, but I was always "on" with him. I never let my guard down. I never trusted him enough.
And he wasn't the sharing type.
It didn't bother me then.
But Joel hurting all by himself on that balcony…
I hate it.
He catches me staring and shoots me a curious look. "How long have you been standing there, undressing me with your eyes?"
His eyes light up, but not with joy. He's a lightbulb again. He's stepping into a role.
Do I pull him out of it or play along?
I'm not sure.
I move closer. "I have not been undressing you with my eyes."
"If you want me naked, all you have to do is ask."
"Really?"
He cocks a brow. "Only one way to find out."
A huge part of me wants to find out. Despite the low temperature, I'm hot all over.
Yes, please, Joel. Strip for me. Pull my panties to my knees, bend me over the balcony railing, and get me screaming your name.
My cheeks flush. Where did that come from?
