You look so happy???
Wait, who is that HOT bartender??
This is the best content you’ve ever posted. Do MORE
Your energy is back, girl, keep going!!
Thank god Brian isn’t in it; he’s so boring.
My hand flies to my mouth. A sharp breath escapes,half shock, half relief, and then a tear slides down before I can stop it.
“Hey…” He turns me slightly so he can see my face, his thumb already catching a tear. “What’s that for?”
I shake my head, a watery laugh bubbling up. “I just… I’ve never had this kind of response before. Not this fast. Not…like this.”
Not when Brian was in the video. Not when I was pretending to be happy. Not when I was acting like my life was perfect, or for some silly brand deal video.
My chest tenses, not from fear. For the first time... It’shope.
“They like me,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Just me. Not this version, I curated online, or the ones the brands prefer. I’m me, my true self, and they love it.”
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. “You are enough as you are,” he reminds me. “You always were.”
Another tear slips free, but this one feels like the release I’ve been holding back for years.
Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can leave. Maybe I don’t have to stay with someone who treats me like nothing and only uses me for money.
My heart flips, and suddenly I become painfully aware of the man holding me, of how safe I feel, and of the future that doesn’t include Brian.
He presses a slow kiss to my temple. “You don’t have to decide anything today,” he murmurs. “Just… don’t sell yourself short. Not anymore.”
I nod, swallowing hard, and lean into his chest like it’s the only place I’ve ever belonged.
Because deep down I already knew the truth, I left Brian the moment I stepped into Reed’s bar.
I just need the courage to bring it to life.
He shifts beside me, letting go of me, as a rush of cool air replaces his warm touch.
The mattress dips under his weight as he props himself up. The sheet slips from his chest, exposing the warm stretch of solid muscle along with the tattoos and scars that run across his arms, the ones he no longer hides as much.
Morning sun rushes in to find him, tracing the raised lines of his skin.
He rakes a hand through his hair, shaking off the sleep, that slight curl behind his ear refusing to behave, and something in my chest sighs softly.
Grabbing his glasses from the nightstand, he slides them onto his face with a practiced push on the bridge of his nose.
The lenses catch the light for a second, making him look like the world’s hottest professor who moonlights as a brooding hero.
His thumb brushes across his mustache, smoothing it into place.
A tiny, unconscious motion... and I swear my bones turn to liquid. My mouth goes dry. My brain? Gone. Completely gone.
I try to be subtle about staring, but I fail spectacularly.
He doesn’t look back when he says, voice still raspy with sleep, “Stop looking at me like that.”
My pulse trips.
