There, folded over.

We don’t talk, it would ruin it, but our bodies do the talking for us, his hands, his sucking mouth, his groans and my moans, the way we move, sort of like our bodies don’t agree with the words we sometimes tell each other, like being close is what we were born to do—how we instinctively crave to be.

When he asks me to come, come harder for him, I come a second time, and it feels like I do come harder. Harder because he wanted me to.

He’s breathing harshly in my ear moments later, and I’m fighting to breathe at all.

I really think we needed that. It was a good way to work each other out of our systems. He stands and helps me up, and then he helps me rearrange my clothes.

He looks at me and there’s intimacy there and heat. I look down.

“That was actually the best sex I’ve ever had,” I breathe as he steps aside and heads over to his window.

He drags a hand over his jaw, staring outside, his shoulders broad and square.

“God, you’re an asshole.”

I start to leave. He stops me, a hand on my elbow. “Come home with me tonight.”

“What for?”

“For more of that.”

I exhale. “So you liked it too.”

He looks at my mouth.

The look melts me, heats me, it’s so raw. I breathe, “You’re an asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you until you admit it.” I tilt my chin, but inside I really just crave to hear it. Our eyes hold deadlocked.

“Put your hand on the front of my pants.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

I do. He’s really hard. I rub him. “Did you not come?” A smile curves my lips. I’m teasing him.

He looks at me, the heat intensifying.

“Oh my God, you’ve got pre-cum coming out already…”

And when I gasp he moves swiftly to take my mouth and kiss me stupid. Long and slow.

“I can wrap up at seven. Why don’t you meet me in the lobby when I’m done?”

He halts my hand, on his hard dick, and doesn’t remove it. I can feel him, hard and pulsing as I try to swallow. “I have a date with Natchez. One of my dogs. But can I use a computer while you finish off…”

“Use my laptop.”

I pry my hand away from his hot body and grab his laptop, then I start to take it outside.

“You can stay here if you’d like.”

I halt midtrack. Eye the leather sectional in the seating area of his office and the glass coffee table before it. “This will do.” I smile, and he smiles briefly before he heads behind his desk to get business done.

On his laptop, I discover a folder titled Bryn. I click on it. Pictures of me appear. Some when I was younger, others of me now.

I look down at my lap. He’s moody today, but a part of me knows I’ve been giving him a tough time about us. About me and him. I can’t imagine how frustrating I have been, and how hard it is for him to see me every day too, and maybe want things that I keep fighting him on.

As Aaric finishes up, I close his laptop and bring it back to his desk.

“You have a folder called Bryn in your computer.” I feel flushed, and I’m as unable to stop the flush as I am to keep from smiling. “I have one too but in my mind. Called Aaric.”

He looks up at me, eyebrows high.

“I’ve got two what ifs in my life that have always hurt me to think about. You’re one of them, Aaric,” I admit.

He stands up and pushes his chair in, coming around to lean on his desk, attentive. “What’s the other one?”

I hesitate.

“The night my parents died, they called me, I got home around midnight. Got ready for bed. At 12:55 a.m., I thought about calling back, but I convinced myself it would be better if I called the next day.”

“12:59 is the time the fire started,” he says.

I nod, my throat suddenly tight.

His eyes shadow, and for a while he says nothing.

“When Leilani went into labor, I was away on business. She ended up in some shitty hospital. My daughter didn’t make it.” He eyes me for a long moment. “I thought I didn’t want her. I convinced myself it happened because I didn’t want her.”

“Of course it didn’t happen because of that. She wasn’t in your plans. We couldn’t have known.”

“We should’ve.”

“But we didn’t.”

He reaches out to touch my shoulder, peering at my face. “Hey. The fire wasn’t your fault.”

“Neither is the death of your baby.”

He looks at my whole face, then at my mouth. “Some what ifs, some you never get to do over, Bryn,” he says.

I blink, dipping my head in consent. “Sometimes you get another try,” I breathe.

As I hold back my tears, he sets his thumb on my bottom lip, and kisses me. It’s just a soft kiss as he says, “I’ll take you home.”

And I ask if he can take me to Natchez instead, just because I want to prolong this. Just because, even when consciously I want to put distance between us, subconsciously I seem to want something else.

Bryn

I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. This is more. This is more than I ever thought possible. Him—how much I want him. How much I care. I toss and turn all night, thinking of nothing but Christos and how much I want to do the brave thing, and for once in my life let myself fall without worrying. Let myself fall for him—the guy I’ve been falling for since I was seventeen.

I’ve always been reliable and levelheaded. Cautious, you could say. But that bitch is gone. That was the young me. The adult me says yes, go for it, you have been into this guy since the moment you saw him, greasy and hot at the shop. I want to try and see where this goes, but I’m scared it will end up provoking my heart, even while up on the highest shelf where I’d put it. But who am I kidding? It’s no longer on my shelf, it’s been in his. For a long time.