Page 34
“I guess because I haven’t figured out what I want to say yet.” Her eyes darted toward the centre of her desk, where pages and pages of handwritten notes were strewn about, others crumpled on the floor.
Bradley started to walk over, but Devra jolted into a run and beat him there. Her back was to him now, her palms on the desk, as she hid the pages with her body.
“I started a few different drafts…”
“I see.” Well, he didn’t, but he wanted to. Desperately. To read about her conflicting thoughts, laid out for him one by one, curious if they might resemble his own. “And which draft are you planning to finish?”
“I’m not sure.”
Bradley could tell her breathing had intensified by the increased rise and fall of her shoulders. “Maybe I could help you make that decision?” He reached beside her, toward the page that was nearest the edge of her desk. She twirled around and grabbed his wrist to stop him.
His skin prickled and sparked where she touched him. He looked down at where they were connected, and she quickly retracted her hand.
“I won’t read anything if you don’t want me to,” he assured her.
“Then don’t.” She sounded resolute, in control, then a moment later her voice and demeanour changed like a faltering facade. “Or do. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know! That’s the problem.” She tousled her hair in a feline-esque tic. “Everything has become so confusing this past week. There used to be structure. Rules. Ways to cope with the chaos of my life. And now you’ve gone and changed everything so I don’t know which way is up or down. So how am I supposed to protect myself from whatever terrible thing is about to be thrown my way?”
Bradley struggled to follow her train of thought. He wondered if this was how other people felt when listening to one of his nervous monologues.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “What terrible thing is going to happen?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. That’s what I’m saying. Aren’t you listening?”
“I am. I’m trying.”
Her gaze landed on his before skittering away. She sighed. She huffed. She puffed. And Bradley half expected her to try to blow him out of her house. But as abruptly as she had tensed up, she sagged. Or rather, she softened.
Devra stepped away from the desk.
Bradley looked at her for confirmation of what she was permitting him to do. She nodded, barely. But it was there. So he stepped forward and selected one of the papers at random.
It started Haha, good one. Anyway, about the…
He set that sheet down and picked up a different one: I was referring to scenery. Like Niagara Falls, the Rocky Mountains…
Then another: I feel the same way about your laugh…
His heart thumped. There were at least a dozen more letters, all of them unfinished, all of them incomplete half thoughts. One of them was much longer than the others. He picked up that one next. In his periphery, he noted Devra crossing her arms around herself protectively.
I have to tell you a story. It’s about this man I spotted outside my window. He was unloading boxes shirtless. Who does that in December, by the way? But improbability aside, I couldn’t look away. He was stunning. I could say that was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, but I would be lying. Because then I saw that same man working out in his living room, muscles flexing, and I began to imagine what it would feel like to have that strong body pressed against mine…
Bradley felt his cock stir. He felt pieces inside him stir, pieces he thought he’d lost—or rather drunk or snorted away. This wasn’t the first time. Who was he kidding? Devra had been waking up these dormant desires for a while now. The way he felt about her loveliness was no longer comparable to the way he felt about Gladys’s smile; it was a magnetic quality that called to him all on its own, incomparable.
He peered down at the page he was holding. Individual words jumped out at him as if they were highlighted. Stunning. Beautiful. Mine. He lifted the page to her.
“This one. You should definitely finish this one.” It came out boyish, squeaky.
She laughed. “I knew you’d like that one.”
“You did?”
“No. I guess I didn’t.” She ran a hand through her hair, which lifted her shirt up another sliver, exposing more lush skin. “But I hoped you would.”
Her confession was as arousing as the letter itself. He stepped toward her. Then a year of practice, of forcing himself not to give in to his impulses, stopped him from taking a second step.
He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. It could mess with his recovery, cause a major relapse.
And yet…one kiss couldn’t possibly hurt, could it? Dr. Rahi had expressed her concerns during the first few months of his sobriety, but he was much better now. Almost one year sober. He was a reliable employee, soon-to-be supervisor, an independent home renter. He was building a real life. And wasn’t he demonstrating his renewed self-control right now just by thinking this through? Would a kiss be any riskier today than months later?
