I can kid myself that I’m okay right now, but I don’t want to be just okay.

The more distractions keep me busy, the more time will help put distance between Christos and I. Eventually, I hope to one day wake up and not have to tell myself to not think of him and then proceed to think of him all day. Miss him all day.

In a few months, my heart can feel a little less heavy, and maybe I can love again. Maybe I can find the right guy for me…again. He may not be my soul mate, but he could be someone to spend a lifetime with. Like Jensen, but who likes girls.

“Okay, so how do we do this?” I peer at the picture she uploaded on my match.com profile.

“Okay.” Becka starts to show me. “Select a couple of hot or interesting-sounding guys, and give them a little wink…” she begins.

That night, I’m still scanning images of guys, trying to find at least one I can send a wink to when my phone rings.

Seeing his name on the screen and nearly having a heart attack, I answer the phone with trembling hands. “Hey.” His low, deep voice runs down my ear and straight to my stupid heart.

Christos.

“Hey,” I answer, blinking when I hear my alarm start buzzing on my nightstand.

I reach out to quiet it.

It’s 1 a.m.

Christos is calling me at 1 a.m.

My chest begins to collapse when I realize this could not be a coincidence. “Christos…what are you doing?” I ask breathlessly.

“It’s 1 a.m.,” is all he says.

“Are you not sleeping?” I ask.

“I am. Except there’s something I need to do every night at this hour.”

“What?” Set the alarm clocks?

“Call you.”

I swallow and struggle to calm my racing heart. “Really, there’s no need for you to call your business partner at 1 a.m. She is perfectly fine,” I assure.

“I know she is, partner. But I’m not.”

Silence.

He exhales. “Guess I wanted to hear your voice. Know you were doing well.”

“I’m okay,” I assure. “I’m doing great. Really. I see…I guess I see the silver lining now.”

Silence.

“Your son for you, for one. Or daughter. And for me…well, I guess I’ve realized you taught me not to be afraid to love. With your whole heart. Even if you could lose him. I’m not afraid to put myself out there again. I even signed up to match.com and may go out on a date. We’ll see,” I ramble. “But it’s all thanks to you. You are a man who is not afraid to commit to a woman, even if she isn’t the right one. You’re a good man. You were a boy that made others pale. And you’re a man that no man can compete against. You’ll always be in my life in some way. You’ll always be my first love. There’s a reason for everything,” I keep going, trying to sound positive.

“I want to be your last,” he hisses passionately, under his breath. “Your fucking only. Who’s this asshole you’re going out on a date with, huh?”

I’m momentarily speechless. Christos is jealous? I swallow and try to appease him. “Don’t act like my brother,” I chide, laughing.

He’s silent, and I don’t know what else to say. “Well, goodnight.”

“Bit?”

Silence. “I better go. Goodnight.”

My phone rings again, at 3 a.m.

I answer, my throat hurting. “Stop it. Please. The last thing I need to remember every two hours is…Stop calling me. Please.”

He curses under his breath, hissing low, “I’m trying to give you space but I cannot sit here, look at the clock, and do nothing, knowing you’re awake.”

“Christos. Please. Go make your family and leave me be. Stop playing with my emotions like this!”

“If I’m playing with yours, you have no idea what I’m doing to mine.”

At 5 a.m. I don’t answer.

At 7 a.m. I cave in and answer again. “Aaric,” I say, “if it’s true you loved me at all, don’t call me again.”

I hang up firmly and then bawl like a baby.

Christos

4 weeks ago…

“It’s not convenient for you, is it?” she asks as she slides into her bed.

“No, bit, it’s not convenient.” I look at her in bed and she looks good enough to eat. I pull up the covers. “I thought I finally had my shit together and then you come along to fuck it up. You tend to do that to me—you really are quite the Wicked Miss Kelly.”

She smiles.

I cannot resist brushing my thumb over her smile.

“Goodnight, bit.”

“’Night.”

I drink her up, thirsty for the look of her, and force myself to go. The knowledge that she wakes herself up at night to make sure there’s no fire brought my protective instincts to the forefront, and it irritates me that she has to sleep alone. That no one is there, with her, to make her feel safe.

I summon my driver with a text to my location at the curb, thinking of the ring I purchased only recently—and the fact that I don’t want it in my apartment any longer.

Business has never tasted sour before.

Bryn is confusing. Reminding me of things I wanted that I thought were over now. Turns out they’re not.

“To Miss Santorini’s,” I tell my driver as I climb into the car.

Miranda is decorating when I arrive at her Columbus Circle penthouse. I walk in in silence and pour us both whiskeys. I hand her a glass, then carry the other to the sofa, where I take a seat and invite her to sit across from me.

She does, watching me closely.