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I fucking hate that. I hate myself for what I’m about to do, too.
I move around the bench, maintaining a two-feet distance away from her. Enough to lend her some of my comforts. Not nearly enough to show her how much I care.
“I’m okay.” I lift my hand and drop it. “Why do you ask?”
“You sounded upset over the phone.” She doesn’t reach for me, despite wanting to, despite her hand twitching at her side.
And I fucking hate that, too. I need to get back to the clinic.
“Work stuff. Listen, I have to go.” I gesture toward the bag I left for her on the bench. Just because I lost my appetite doesn’t mean she should starve. “I packed a cold turkey sandwich today and salad. Stay. Eat.”
Her nose scrunches. “You sure you can’t stay ten minutes?”
“No, unfortunately, I can’t.” Even one more minute without an apology for Monday will make things worse. “I won’t make it to our lunch on Friday, either.”
I can see her soul cracking through her eyes, and I amend my statement. Fast.
“What do you say about Saturday night? I’ll follow through with my promise, take you out on a date.”
“You don’t have to.” Her head bows, her gaze casts to the ground. “If you don’t want to, I…uh, I won’t hold you to it.”
Fuck the distance. Fuck my cold attitude.
Cupping her face in my palms, I tilt her head up and press my lips into hers. Our brief kiss is what I’m able to give her for now. With my mouth on hers, I tell her how serious I am about her. How I won’t back down.
“Don’t want to break it,” I growl, my lips brushing hers as I talk. “Not for anything. I’ll be outside your apartment at seven on Saturday evening.”
Sunrays beam from inside her again. Melting me. “What should I wear?”
“Anything you want. Unless it’s panties. Those aren’t allowed.” I start walking backward toward our clinics. “See you Saturday.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Theo
TheabsenceofPruescalds me, the flames of my need burning through my veins.
In the dead of the night, in the silence of my apartment, I miss her.
We’re separated by two floors. It might as well be two states. Two continents.
I lie here in my bed, by myself, and she’s downstairs in hers. She hugs the thin, bland green sheets while she sleeps instead of entangling her limbs in mine.
Unacceptable.
My warped, obsessive desires refuse to listen to logic. My pure intentions of keeping my distance—intentions I declared to myself just earlier today—seem far and dull from where I observe them right now.
A fathomless hole gapes in my heart. Emptiness I haven’t known before.
A void only she can fill.
Sleep will evade me tonight if I don’t see her. Touch her.
There’s no getting around the fact that I won’t be able to close my eyes before I touch her.
I straighten to a sitting position on the edge of my bed. Elbows on my knees, fingers steepled, gaze directed beyond the doorway separating my bedroom and the living room.
The front door of my apartment calls to me. Though it isn’t visible from this angle, I picture it. The size and shape. The heavy handle.
