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I might regret this one day, but I may regret it more if I never say this out loud to her.
“I don’t know if I even know what love is exactly, Isla,” I say honestly. I don’t want to fuck this up. Please don’t let me fuck this thing up. I brush her hair out of her face, and she grabs my hand and nuzzles her face into my palm. “But what I do know is that I have never, in my entire life, felt the things I’m feeling for you. I’ve never wanted more with anyone. I’ve never let myself. But you’re different…” I pause, searching for the right words, feeling like nothing does what I’m feeling justice. My heart is thudding so fucking hard I can feel it in my ears. “I think I’m in love with you, Isla Robles.”
Her eyes go wide as she scoots off the sink, and for a minute, I think I’ve royally fucked up any chance I have with her. Why the fuck did I say that? Who do I think I am? Leo DiCaprio in Titanic? Fucking Brad Pitt in Fight Club? I mentally beat myself up for being so vulnerable but just as I’m about to back away from her, her hands find my chest, this time skirting up my skin to my face.
“I think I love you, too, Bordeaux.” Isla smiles and I feel like my entire soul combusts before becoming whole again. We lose ourselves in each other, my hands in her hair and her hands undoing my jeans, not ready to let each other go just yet.
Thirty-Five
Isla
Dystychipobia (n.) the fear of hurting someone.
___________
“I really wish we could have met before this tour was starting,” Declan says as she puts her number into my phone. “We’ll have to hang when we get back.” She smiles at me with her perfect white teeth just as Lucas hooks an arm around her waist, spinning her around and pulling her away from Bordeaux and me. Declan looks over her shoulder at us, laughing. “See you soon, babe!”
I wave at her as she’s whisked away, a smile growing on my face, too. It’s so weird how magnetic Declan is. She seems like the kind of person I could trust. And that’s rare to find in this city, especially when you’re me.
When I turn toward Bordeaux, he’s staring at me with a forlorn look etched on his face. His eyebrows knit together as he scrubs a hand over his chin.
“What is it?” I ask him, a pit growing in my stomach as city traffic buzzes and hums all around us. We’re standing next to the ginormous tour bus that is going to be his home for the length of this tour.
Bordeaux takes my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently. This side of Bordeaux—the side that isn’t cocky or all bad-boy—is one I could get used to. I love a good bad-boy as much as any woman, but seeing his vulnerable side makes me fall completely apart.
“I’m going to miss you, sugar,” he murmurs, pulling me into his chest. I could get drunk on his scent. His scent comforts me, and I don’t allow myself to think about how after today, I won’t smell it lingering on my skin for quite some time.
After we both told each other that we think we love each other, we talked about how long he’s going to be on the road this time. He’s got ten shows in ten different cities across the Midwest, totaling a nearly three-month tour. It suddenly feels like the city is closing in around me as I’m forced to think about my life without him.
Part of me can’t stand it. Like I’m suddenly the woman I never wanted to be, one who is centering her entire life around a man. But I can’t help it. I look up and into his blue eyes and see my sadness reflected in them. I haven’t known this man for a long time, but now that he’s in my life, it almost feels like he was meant to be here, like we were meant to find each other. Like the universe wholly conspired to set us ablaze, on fire for each other.
My walls fall as an unwanted tear rolls down my cheek. I swipe my fingers over my face, but not before he notices.
“Come with me,” he says, and I almost fall backward.
“Wait, what?” I ask, thinking I heard him wrong.
“Come with me,” he repeats and I realize I definitely did not hear him wrong. “Come on tour with me, Isla.”
I shake my head, pulling away from him, but his grip on my hand stays firm.
“I can’t go on a tour with you,” I tell him, an uncomfortable laugh escaping my lips. He nods, like he knew I’d say it. “I have school and work and my life I have to continue living, B.” I gulp and it feels like I’m swallowing glass. Another tear falls and this time, he runs his thumb over my cheek, sliding it away. He bends down and kisses my salty skin and then my lips. My entire body warms with just the taste of him, his lips on mine, his body pressed against me.
“I get it,” he says, breaking our kiss. “I know. And I don’t want to guilt you into coming along. I get that you have a life. What about if I fly you out for one of our shows? Or, you know, ten of them?” He smiles but it isn’t his usual smile. “You pick any of them, tell me, and I’ll book you a flight. You can leave the city on a Friday night or Saturday morning, see us play Saturday night, and leave Sunday morning. It’ll be a quick weekend, and I know it won’t satisfy either of us, but it’s better than nothing.” His eyes glimmer, sunlight bouncing off them. They look like a fucking beautiful blue sea. A hopeful beautiful blue sea.
“I would love to,” I tell him. “I can make that work.”
“Bordeaux, we’re on a time crunch!” Carleeta screeches from all the way across the parking lot, her hands flailing around in the air.
“God, she’s a mess,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Is she always like this?”
He nods, inhaling a deep breath. “She’s a huge part of why the band and I could never stay at Hellfire. She loves to make our lives a living hell. It’s like she just tries to make us feel like shit.”
“That’s so messed up,” I tell him, watching as she flags down a man carrying some large equipment I assume is for the band, making him set it down and carry her bag.
“I guess I better go…” Bordeaux says, cupping my face in his hands. I lean into him and close my eyes, wishing this wasn’t happening but not wanting him to feel worse than he already does.
“Send me the list of cities and we’ll plan something, okay? I’ll see you soon,” I say, tears stinging my eyes.
