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White-hot, inappropriate jealousy.
She talked me into downloading a dating app.
I swallow hard, gritting my teeth against the feeling. I have no right to be jealous. I’ve made a point of nipping any attempt Sasha has made at flirtation in the bud before it can even begin. I’ve been careful not to encourage her when she’s been drunk. I’ve done everything I can to make sure that there’s no reason she might think I’m pushing my desires on her, no matter how badly I want her.
But God help me, I can’t think of a single productive way to respond to that fucking text.
I’m sure they enjoyed that,I finally respond, thinking it’s noncommittal enough. It might even be the end of the conversation, which would be for the best, even though I’d like nothing more than to keep talking to her.
Every moment I spend with Sasha feels like a gift. It’s not only that she’s beautiful, with a quick wit and insight, that I always enjoy. She’s more than that. I know that she’s been through horrible things, unthinkable things, and yet she’s always a light to everyone around her. She’s happy and positive, forcing herself to push through the darkest of times while being strong for everyone around her.
She deserves someone who can beherstrength. More than my physical desire for her, more than anything else, I wish I could bethatfor her. But I know all I would be doing is putting her in more danger.
They did,she responds back. And then, a second later,maybe it was good for me.
That sharp, hot jealousy pierces through me again, but I force it back.How so?I type back, forcing myself to ignore the way this is making me feel. If Sasha needs to talk about this, then I want to be there for her, even if the thought of her looking at other men and finding them arousing or interesting, makes me want to track all of them down and toss them bodily into the Hudson.
My therapist keeps telling me I need to date. But I haven’t been able to get up the nerve to try. This made it easier.
No matter how jealous the idea makes me, I know it’s true. Sasha deserves a happy, full life, and that includes finding a man who will love and treat her the way she should be loved and treated. I just don’t want to think about it.
I wish, for the first time in my life, that it could be me.
Do you think you’ll actually go on a date with one of them?
I don’t know.A moment’s hesitation, and then another text.One of them already messaged me back. This guy named Nick. But I haven’t responded.
Before I can type out a response, a third text.Should I???
My gut clenches. With every cell in my body, I want to tell herfuck no. I want this man, thisNick,whoever he is, to never even get a chance to lay eyes on her. But I know that’s not the right answer—especially when I’m not prepared to step up and be what she needs myself.
Do you want to?
It’s all I can think of to say without giving away how I really feel about the situation. It takes a moment for Sasha to respond, almost long enough that I think she might have fallen asleep. And then, my phone buzzes.
Not really. The only guy I want to go on a date with doesn’t want me.
Is she talking about me?I thought I’d done a good job of hiding my desire from her. I hadn’t ever wanted her to think there was a chance of more between us, to lead her on, or to make her feel pressured or frightened in any way. I wanted to make her feel safe.Did that somehow make her want me?
Who is that?
I know the text will probably only make things worse, but I honestly don’t know how else to respond. I’ve had a long day myself, and my head feels muddled with Levin’s news and other concerns. I hadn’t expected to field this conversation now—or ever, really.
I think you already know the answer to that.
Sasha’s text confirms everything I’d feared, but then my phone buzzes again before I can respond and find some way to deter her. I open it, expecting another text, but instead, my pulse suddenly leaps into my throat.
It’s a photo of her in the dim light of her room from the waist up, wearing a tank top with her strawberry blonde hair tousled around her face, her phone lifted up to take a selfie.I know I’m not supposed to. But I’ve been laying here thinking about you.
The arousal that rushes through me is instant, heating my blood and stiffening my cock before I have a chance to think. It’s not even a particularly sexual photo, but she looks beyond gorgeous, and all I can think about is how much I want to be in that bed next to her—what I would give to be lying there, touching her.
Everything except my vows.
Sasha, you’ve been drinking.
I fire off the text before I can say anything I shouldn’t, reaching down to squeeze my cock hard, trying to force my erection into submission. I can feel the possibility of this careening out of control, of me saying something I shouldn’t, of slipping down the path that I so desperately desire and have so desperately been trying to avoid.
I want her, and with every moment that she tries to get closer, it becomes harder and harder to resist.
