My heart flutters. I mentally scold it.
“Think about me when you touch yourself, then.”
I glare at him for that one, kissing him one last time as he finally turns the handle of the door. “You better do the same.”
Boston smiles. “Goodnight, Ari.”
He hesitates, and I feel it. That weird heaviness in my chest and throat, like I’m scared I’ll never see him again once he leaves this room, like I want to keep him here forever, in this moment, because things will never be the same again. I lean against the door, smiling tiredly up at him, dressed only in his shirt that I’m going to have to figure out how to give back under the radar.
“Night, Boston Black,” I say as he crosses that hallway and I let him go.
He tosses me a grin over his shoulder at the way I say his name, slides his keycard into his own door, and faces me before he closes it.
I blow him a kiss, my head still pressed against the side of the door.
He rolls his eyes, but reaches up to catch it, pretending to put it in the pocket of his sweats for later.
We close our doors at the same time, because I think we have to. I think if we don’t, neither of us will do it first. If we don’t, we’ll keep crossing that hallway to each other, for one hundred last kisses.
My body is aching in the best possible way and as much as I want to savour the feeling, I don’t have the luxury of time. I hop into the shower with tired bones and wash him from my skin, even though I’d much rather smell the trace of his cologne on my skin all night. I need every trace of him gone if I am going to lie to the world—and to my brother—in the morning.
I still toss his shirt back on when I climb into bed, though.
I spend hours staring at the ceiling, thinking about his smile, his laugh, and the way his voice softens when he looks into myeyes. I think about every man who came before him, and how the ones who follow will forever be doomed to try to live up to him. I think about how it’s brutally unfair that this thing between us can only exist for a weekend.
With sleep nowhere on the horizon, I admit defeat. I grab his number from the group chat Penny started at the beginning of the week and punch it into my phone, sending him a text at nearly five in the morning.
Me
This bed feels too big without you in it.
I’m surprised when those three dots appear less than thirty seconds later.
Boston
This one feels cold.
I smile, stunned that I wasn’t immediately turned down.
Me
If you were still here, would you kiss me again?
Those three dots appear, then vanish, and then appear again. It takes over a minute for him to respond, and I know it’s because of the internal warfare that he puts himself through.
Boston
Everywhere.
I groan, rolling into my pillows and kicking my legs under the blankets like a lovestruck teenager. Stupid, smooth-talking, prick. It was much easier when he didn’t flirt back, when I was talking to a wall. Now, I’ve tasted what I can’t have. I’ve beenserved a steaming platter of his charm, and I can’t cope with how I want a second, third, and fourth plate before I’ve even finished the first.
I want more.
Me
Great. No sleep for me.
Boston
