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I blink my eyes, and I see that Devon is holding a tall glass of icy water in front of my mouth. “Here, drink a little, my love, then I’ll let you sleep.”
I put my hands around the glass and gulp some water down.
He takes it slightly away from me. “Easy, easy, love. Drink slowly. It’s too cold to drink it so fast. You'll make yourself sick."
I sip more slowly, and I feel him dab at my face, neck, and chest with a cold, damp cloth, my skin singing in relief.
He gently cleanses between my thighs, then stands up and kisses my temple.
God, he’s so attentive and loving! I have no words.
“I’m going to take that shower now, babe. Feel free to join me if you change your mind.”
I nod and give him a smile, but I already know I won’t be taking him up on his offer.
I can’t.
This is getting too intense, too fast.
I need to think, and I can't do that when I'm around him.
I need space right now, and I know that while Devon would easily give me anything I wish for, this particular item is not on his list.
I’ve got to go. Now. Before he comes out of the shower. Before I have to explain to him the sudden feeling of panic I’m experiencing.
I’ve never felt this loved, this cherished, this precious for someone else in my entire existence, and all I want to do is run away from it all.
This can’t be real. I can’t let him get this much into my heart. Not when I don’t have a single coherent thought in my head.
I have to go.
As fast as possible, I am dressed and leaving Devon's flat in Beacon Hill. I reach Charles Station with my heart pounding and my legs shaking from all the fucking and the stress.
Fifteen minutes later, the T is taking me to my flat in West End, my eyes are full of tears, and my head is spinning in confusion, my fingers rapidly composing a text for Devon.
Please, understand. I need some time. I’ll call you.
CHAPTER12
Devon
Lynn:
Please, understand. I need some time. I’ll call you.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean, anyway?
Understand what?
Time for what?
And…I’ll call you?!
Really, that last thing has been the most difficult to swallow.
Isn’t that the hateful refrain one-nighters always seem to get from the person that they thought they had formed some kind of connection with when, in reality, the person in question doesn’t want to see them ever again and simply feels too awkward to come out with the truth?
Not that I would remember what the exact policy when dealing with one-night stands should be. Thanks to Lynn inhabiting my heart and haunting my thoughts —and my pants— it’s been more than five years since the last time I’ve been in the position to talk to one. What I do remember is that even in my wildest college years, I was always upfront with the ladies and never uttered those damning words myself.
