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Damn. Of course he knows I have, but what’s the point in bringing it up? He’s already made it clear that we’re not something that will ever happen. There’s a million metaphorical lines drawn between us, keeping me from even thinking about a potential future, so all he’s doing now is fucking with my head.
I need to quit while I’m behind. I can’t allow him to let me hope for something that’s never going to happen. Only one of us is going to end up hurt here, and it’s not going to be him.
He needs a reminder of what’s at stake. He needs a reality check.
Aspen - You’re giving me whiplash. Which is it? Are we pretending it never happened or are we sneaking around behind Austin’s back and doing something you and I both know we shouldn’t?
There’s a slight pause, and I watch as the three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen, and I find myself holding my breath, anxiety bubbling through my veins.
Izaac - Fuck. You’re right. I’m sorry. Austin would have my balls for this, but the other night…lines got blurred. You’re not a kid anymore.
What in the ever-loving fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m not a kid anymore? Of course I’m not a kid anymore, but what does he mean by that? Has he suddenly taken notice of me? Or is he seeing me in a new way since Saturday night? Though one thing is for sure, the lines really did get blurred, but we have no choice but to unblur them. Me and Izaac . . . nothing can happen. Despite how desperately I might want it to.
Aspen - Have you been drinking?
Izaac - No…
Aspen - …
Izaac - Okay. Maybe a little. Or a lot…
Aspen - Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?
Izaac - Not unless you want me to throw you up against a wall and fuck you until you can’t walk.
Holy fucking shit. I think I just came.
Aspen - Okay, sex god. Whatever you say.
My phone starts to ring as my eyes widen in horror, and I throw it down as though it could physically burn me. I gape at Izaac’s name in bold letters across my screen. What the hell does he think he’s doing calling me like this?
My heart pounds as my hands begin to shake, terrified of what an actual conversation could mean. Does he just want to talk shit while he’s drunk or does he plan to bring up Saturday night again? Because when he makes comments like,You’re not a kid anymore,I don’t think I’m capable of responding without begging him to come fuck me.
The phone continues to ring and before I give myself a chance to think it over too much, I hastily scoop it up and hit accept, immediately putting the call on speaker.
“Izaac,” I say in warning. “You and I both know you shouldn’t be calling me.”
“You really think I’m a sex god?”
“No,” I laugh as a fire burns in the pit of my stomach at just hearing the word sex fall from his mouth. “I think you’re drunk and therefore, you think you’re a sex god. Or do I need to remind you of what you said to me in the kitchen the other day?”
Izaac laughs. “According to you, we never had any conversation the other day. We never did anything, and I sure as fuck didn’t hear you groan my name when you came on your fingers.”
My cheeks flame, and I clear my throat, not trusting my voice to not come out all squeaky and obvious. “Is there a reason for your call, or do you just get off on making me squirm?”
A soft chuckle sounds through the phone before I hear the familiar sounds of him flopping back against the couch and getting comfortable. “You never told me what you were doing.”
“I did,” I argue. “I said I was organizing a wild orgy.”
“Cut the bullshit. What are you really doing?”
I let out a heavy breath, pressing my lips into a tight line. “You really want to know?”
“Would I ask otherwise?”
“Who knows? You seem to be saying a lot of things you don’t really mean.”
“Just answer the fucking question.”
