He’s probably concocting an excuse already about not being available. I’m surprised when he flashes his signature grin. He tugs on my braid. “No matter what I’m doing, I’ll make time to see you.”
The ache building in my chest, sharpens, threatens. It’s ready to scar me forever.
I push out of his arms and slip on my dress. Shopping sounds like a needed distraction. “Okay, let’s go shopping. I need to stop by my bank first.”
“Why? I’ll buy you anything you want.”
“No, you won’t.” I throw his shorts at him. “That’s why I want to go to the bank. To return your money.” It doesn’t feel right keeping it when we’ve gotten so close. I never want the illusion that he bought me.
He stops pulling his shorts up mid-thighs and stares at me. “Aspen, absolutely not. I hired you for a job.” He pulls them up the rest of the way. They sit right below the waistband of his underwear. He snaps his fingers, pulling me out of my daze, catching me staring at the defined V of his lower belly. “Up here, Whiskey.”
“I give up. I can’t stop staring at you. And I’m not sorry.”
He chuckles once, but then his tone turns serious when he says, “Did you hear me? I’m not taking back the money.”
“Ryker—”
“No. The money’s yours. End of discussion.” His resolve isn’t to be argued with, so I let it go. At least my conscience feels better for trying.
Chapter Thirteen
Aspen
“I’m already having withdrawals and I’m still inside you,” he murmurs with rawness in his voice as he cradles me in his arms. My legs wrap around his narrow waist. “I’ve never had to say goodbye to perfection.” A mixture of desire and emotion from his words causes me to moan out loud.
The moon casts a glow behind him, a whisper of a breeze blanketing us in the darkness of his deck. Our bodies are slick from sweat as he’s making this a marathon versus a sprint. Slow and steady as he pulls out and slams into me again.
Our last night together.
Tears keep threatening, and I blink them back, knowing it’ll only make it worse. I let him in. Let him know my heart and now it’s cracking. The words maybe someday are on the tip of my tongue, but the words sour because they’re the same words I said to the other foreigners. This feels so different, yet he’s still leaving with no promises of tomorrow. But I don’t expect it this time, so why does this hurt so much more?
“Aspen.” Too caught up in my head, I hadn’t noticed he stopped. I peer up into his green eyes. “Don’t question what this is. You’ve left a lasting mark on my heart,” he murmurs, reading my mind.
I manage a smile through the tears. “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping one that escaped.
His lips brush mine and he murmurs, “Don’t be sorry, I’m not,” before fusing our lips together. I’ve never had a man pour this much emotion into a kiss. For fourteen days, my heart has never felt so alive. But now, the tempo is an unforgettable beat. The feeling, an unforgiving touch.
I can feel the crack in our hearts.
Its vibration stings my soul.
The scar is irrevocable and deep.
Goodbye, Ball Boy.
Bolting out of a deep sleep when the alarm rings loudly from the nightstand I stretch my arm, smacking it quiet. I rub the sleep from my eyes, and force my legs to move to the side of the bed, despite wanting nothing more than to give in to my body's fatigue. The darkness outside is about to flip a switch. It won’t be long until the sun’s light pours in.
Another monotonous day.
The weight of loss is slightly lighter this morning. It’s already been a week since I waved at him from the dock, watching him leave, taking my heart with him. And every day since, I’ve promised myself that we would see each other again. But today, I feel I need to move on. My life is here. Whether or not I like it. Allowing myself to live for an inconceivable outcome isn’t healthy.
No matter how much it hurts.
The sympathy glances don’t help either. Despite knowing the ending, at least my friends don’t rub it in. Except Dante. He’s the only one who reminds me that I asked for this.
Who needs enemies when your best friend reminds you daily you messed up? But truthfully, the joke is on him. As