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By the time everyone leaves, it’s almost 10:30, and I can’t stifle my yawns any longer. We say our goodbyes and I knock softly on Chloe’s door.
“Hey, Mom,” she smiles, closing her book. “You have fun tonight?”
“I did, sweetie. You could have come downstairs; you didn’t have to hide out up here reading all night.” I brush her hair away from her face and plant a kiss on her forehead.
“Please, Mom, you know that I’d hide up here and read all day if you’d let me.”
“I know, baby.” I take a few seconds to look at her, my heart so full every time I see her smiling back at me. I have to stop myself from going down the path ofhow the hell could anyone walk away from her?before I start crying and make her upset. “Okay, you’ve stayed up late enough, even for the weekend.” I reach over and turn off her bedside lamp, her small wall nightlight illuminating the room just enough. “Good night, Chloe. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom,” she says, grabbing her favorite stuffed bear and rolling away from me as I close her bedroom door.
I see that Alex’s door is open an inch, and I walk over and knock on it, which pushes it open a little wider. I can see a light is on, but he doesn’t answer.
“Alex?” I knock again, pushing the door open as I step inside. “Oh, sorry!” I quickly avert my gaze for a second when he rounds the corner out of his bathroom, draped in nothing but a low-slung towel.
“No need to apologize.” He smiles.
“I, um, I was just going to tell you that everyone has left.” I lift my eyes up to glance at him . . . only, I can’t look away. His body is ridiculous. His abs have more lines than I thought possible, and his pecs are firm and defined. I could feel them beneath his shirt, butholy shit, this is next-level sexy.
“See something you like?”
He runs his hands through his dark, wet hair, a few beads of water running down his neck and over his chest. I wish I could sayno, but the way the towel is barely clinging to his hips, accentuating that deep V right down to his . . .
“Juliette?”
“Huh?” I snap my gaze upward, my mouth probably hanging open with drool running down my chin. “I’m wet—you’re wet!” I say in embarrassment, my face instantly on fire. “I need to take a shower,” I say quickly before darting out of the room and walking to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. “Oh God.” I hang my head in my hands.
I spend twice as long in the shower, trying to scrub what just happened from my memory, but the image of Alex in a towel refuses to be washed away. I’ve always been attracted to preppy types—the guys who played tennis in college and were on the debate team. The ones who wore pastel polos and talked about who would be running Fortune 500 companies someday.
But I didn’t come from that world. I came from a single father who was an alcoholic and could barely feed himself, let alone me, most days. Maybe it was my desire to fit in—this idea that I had to prove myself and fit into that world. That’s what Caleb was: rich. He came from a wealthy family, but still ended up an alcoholic asshole just like my dad.
When I met Josh after Caleb and I split, I thought he was different. But he ended up being the same as all those guys from college: obsessed with his image and money. Then when he decided I didn’t fit into that mold, he was done with me. I can’t tell if that was my fault, or if my obsession with work and trying to fit in completely destroyed my ability to actually enjoy the life I’d built. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop fixating on everything that’s gone wrong in my life—all the ways I’ve failed—and just allow myself to be happy that I’m finally doing something to help others.
I shut off the shower, stepping out and wrapping the towel around my body. I take my time, indulging in my skincare routine and lathering my body with oil and lotion before brushing my hair. I slip on a pair of panties and a silk camisole, wanting to feel the cool sheets against my body. I exit my bathroom, and sitting on the end of my bed in nothing but pajama bottoms is Alex.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I walk toward him. He doesn’t respond. He just reaches for my hand, pulling me toward him until I’m standing between his legs. He looks up at me, his hands gliding up my thighs to my waist.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he says.
I’m frozen in front of him. He slowly stands up, towering over me as he moves one hand from my waist to my neck. His fingers wrap around it, sliding halfway up into my hair as he tilts my head and brings his lips to mine. The kiss is soft and deep, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth once, twice, then he sucks on it. My toes curl into the carpet as goosebumps break out across my skin.
“Wait,” I say, pushing against him, “what about the rules?”
“Fuck the rules, baby.” He pulls me to him again, and this time his tongue slides deep into my mouth.
“You just want me because you can’t have me.” I step back. Yes, I want this, but even though I know there’s no future here, I don’t like feeling as if I’m just something to conquer. “I know you’re used to getting what you want. I imagine most women don’t saynoto you, but I am.”
“Sweetheart, I enjoy the chase as much as the next guy, but I don’t want you because I can’t have you. I want you because I can’t think of anything else besides fucking you, tasting you, kissing you, making you come.” He brushes my wet hair back off of my shoulder. “If all I wanted was to have you once, I would have taken you that day on your counter. You’re the one who’s too scared to go after what you want. You always do what you think people expect of you—what you think is the right thing to do—and where has that gotten you?”
I stare at him. He’s right: I do want him. I want to lose myself in him, even if it’s only for one night, and forget about all the things I should be doing. I want to know what it’s like to let a man take control of my body and please me without thoughts of tomorrow. A sense of freedom settles over me when I realize I have that power in this situation. I can let go—let myself enjoy tonight for exactly what it is, and nothing more.
“Or maybe,” I smirk, “this is all part of your game because youdolike the chase. You like the feeling of conquering a woman after she’s saidno.”
He smiles, only it’s not charming or cute, it’s devilish. “So then tell me, Juliette,” he says as he tightens his grip on my neck, his fingers wrapping around to almost touch the front of my throat, “are you telling meno,or are you telling me no?”
I see the game he’s playing. I feel my buttoned-up, uptight exterior start to melt away, and suddenly, all those desires I’ve had over the years to be bad—to be whatever I want to be—won’t be pushed down any further.
“I’m telling you that I think: that if given the chance, you want to ruin me for any other man in my life.”
