I don’t finish the answer I was going to give him, because he and I both know that I don’t have a valid answer other than the one that I just stopped myself providing. We sit in silence, both of us sitting with our own personal problems—him with his love for Jamie, me with my love for my woman and my business.
Eventually, I gather up enough courage to say, “This is my chance to show Oakleigh that our connection stretches further than just hate for each other. It’s a chance for me to let her see that maybe what has been there between us for years can be more than just storms and thunder. It can be still waters and calming rain.”
“What are you, a fucking poet?”
I kick him under the table.
“I’m whatever she needs me to be.”
“You need to be whatever you need, too, dude.”
And isn’t that just the conundrum wrapped up in two spiky, painful sentences.
ChapterEleven
OAKLEIGH
My laptop sits on my thighs as I take a deep breath in then release it. Tranquility is something I rarely exhibit, what with my job and this recent thing with Finn, and so right now, I let the feeling sink into my bones and replace any bubble of stress it comes across.
I stare at my unfinished manuscript in front of me and I’m filled with excitement and determination. I’m at the climax of the story now, the ghost that the FMC has fallen in love with has been almost fully resurrected, ready and determined to love her with every ounce of his newly acquired life.
My fingers have been itching to write this part—the part where the characters finally stop denying the reality of their feelings; where “like” is an insufficient word, when “love” explains it so much better. It’s when they stop denying each other physically…And that’s exactly why this goddamn chapter has remained unfinished for two weeks.
How can I write about something that I can’t even remember experiencing? It’s been months since anyone’s hands wandered along the planes of my body; since someone has worked hard to pull a moan from my mouth or a plea for them to not stop. Now, the memory of it feels like a leaf floating down a river—traveling further and further away from me until the feel of pleasure is a ghost against my skin. I feel like the MMC in my novel, I suppose—alone, forgotten, and desperate for touch.
I hesitate over the keys of my laptop, waiting for the words to find their way to the tips of my fingers. Nothing comes. I’m blank, empty, pretty much a born-again goddamn virgin at this point, because how the hell have I forgotten sex?
Even though my writing is getting me nowhere, I still growl in frustration when my doorbell goes off. I throw my laptop onto the couch beside me and get up to answer the door.
A flustered Finn is standing on my doorstep, face flushed, shirt crumpled. His heavy breathing makes me think of the very activity I was just struggling to write about.
“What?” I ask, the frustration in my tone mostly directed at myself.
“Did you go on a date with another guy four months ago?”
My breath halts. “Why?”
His head tilts as if he’s hoping he’ll see why the hell I’m asking him that. “You’re kidding me, right? You don’t think that was something that would have been useful for me to know?”
“Not really. My love life is really none of your business.”
“It is when I’m supposed to be telling people that we’ve been dating for eight months!”
Oh, right. That.
I purse my lips together. “There’s a possibility that it could have maybe been information that you might have needed to know.”
He tilts his head the other way, this time as if he’s checking to see if I’m being serious.
“Okay, fine, yes, you should have known!”
He rolls his eyes and huffs a breath before storming past me into my house.
“In my defense,” I say after shutting the door. “It was purely a trial date.”
He turns to me. “What in the goddamn seven hells is atrial date?”
“It’s a date one goes on to see if they’re ready to start dating again. I went on it with this nurse from work and it turned out to be one of the most awkward experiences because he was weird and rude and— And I don’t know why I’m telling you this!”
