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His heavy breathing mixes with mine as I struggle between reeling back in the desire coursing through my body and continuing to grind against him. I know exactly which way my needy body is leaning, that’s for sure. This ache between my legs is only growing more intense by the second.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers as he opens his eyes. They’re still dilated from desire, but it’s the look of pain that grabs my attention and won’t let go.
He’s right.
We shouldn’t be doing this.
His words ring in my ears like a siren, and suddenly, I feel embarrassed. I’m practically climbing my ex-boyfriend as if he were a tree in the backyard, while imagining the dirty things he could do to me on this very counter. The burn moves up my neck and lands in my cheeks as I drop my hands from gripping the back of his T-shirt.
Jensen pulls away and walks to the opposite side of the kitchen. It’s as if he can’t get far enough away from me, not that I blame him. Confliction is etched all over his handsome face, and that pains me even more. I did that to him.
Then my eyes drop to his pants and the tightness they possess, and I realize, I did that too.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my stomach, wishing his arms were still around me.
“For what? I’m the one who kissed you.”
My eyes connect with his from across the room. “I’m not talking about the kiss.” My heart tries to pound out of my chest as my words seem to register. We haven’t talked about what happened twelve years ago. I’ve been avoiding it like the plague, but I don’t think I can live without saying it any longer.
He averts his eyes for a second, his mouth moving as if he’s trying to figure out what to say. Needing to get this out, I let the words spill from my lips. “I’m sorry I left in the middle of the night and you never heard from me again. If I could take it back, I would. Something…something happened and I still don’t completely understand it. My dad stopped me when I came home that night from our date and told me we were leaving.” I feel the burn of tears, but forge on.
“Mother was already packing what few belongings she was taking. I was informed I needed to gather my things because we were moving to New York. I tried to call you, but it just went to voicemail. When Mother came in my room and saw me waiting to leave you a message, she took my phone and smashed it.
“I was barely able to gather up a few things before I was ushered to a waiting car. The next thing I knew, we were boarding Daddy’s jet for New York. It all happened so fast, it was like a dream. A nightmare, actually. I couldn’t remember your number since my phone was broken and there was something clearly going on between my parents. The tension was so thick between them you could practically see it.”
I take a deep breath, steeling my back as I forge on. “I decided to give it a day or two to calm down before I asked to go back. Even though they had their heart set on me attending Princeton that fall, I was ready to tell them I had enrolled at North Carolina State with you.”
That day comes back to me as if it had happened yesterday. My parents had no clue I wanted to stay local and study art instead of being carted off to Princeton and major in business management and real estate like my dad. Painting was my passion, my dream. It’s all I wanted to do. Well, that and stay with Jensen.
But that was taken from me in the middle of the night.
“What happened?”
“Mother bought me a new phone and refused to allow me to pull my old contacts. I couldn’t remember your number for the life of me, even though I had called or texted it a dozen times a day for a few years. After a few days, I got online and found the number for your mom’s bed and breakfast. Before I could call, she told me you didn’t want to speak to me anymore.” The words are barely audible as I relive the worst time of my life.
“What? Why would she say that?”
I shrug my shoulders, keeping my eyes on the fancy new tile I just had installed in the kitchen. “She said…” I take a deep breath and force myself to say the words. “She said you were using me, to get our money.”
“The fuck?” he bellows, pulling my gaze back to his. His face is a mixture of horror and disbelief.
“I didn’t believe her at first,” I insist, the tears spilling from my eyes like someone turned on the faucet.
He gazes at me from across the room before asking, “At first?”
“Yeah, at first,” I whisper.
“What changed?” he asks, his voice shallow and unsure.
“The letters.”
“Letters?” he asks, clearly very confused about what letters I’m referring to.
“The ones between you and your father.”
Perplexity is written all over his gorgeous face as he tries to follow, but I don’t understand why. How could he have forgotten about the letters he wrote back and forth with his dad, talking about how he didn’t love me and was in it for sex?
“Butterfly, I’m trying to understand what you’re saying, but I have to be honest. I don’t know anything about any letters. The only letters I wrote were to you and they were all sent back to me in a bundle with a note you didn’t want to hear from me again.”
