20. Aurora
20
AURORA
WELCOME TO THE GROUP CHAT
O h my God . Jack was snuggly.
I needed to extricate myself from his grasp, but those stupid muscles were heavy.
And warm.
And . . . kind of nice.
I wasn’t snuggly. I was a “starfish in the middle of the bed” kind of woman. I didn’t mind the occasional draped arm on a couch, but the bed was a sacred place for fucking and beauty sleep. None of this middle-ground nonsense.
Jack had trapped me against his chest. Two arms wound around my waist, keeping me pinned securely against his body. I wasn’t mad that we had fallen asleep together. Frankly , it was the best sleep I had gotten in a long time—and not just because I was exhausted after the generous half-dozen orgasms he doled out.
I shifted and felt that delicious ache radiate from between my legs. Oh my God .
We had gone at each other like animals. In the shower. On the bed. We took a necessary break for snacks and hydration, then got back at it on the couch before heading to bed for the grand finale.
It was completely obnoxious and utterly amazing. I was sated. I was relaxed. I was rested. I really had to pee.
Jack let out a soft snore and curled in closer around my back. I needed to figure a way out so I could get my head straight.
This was sex.
Just sex.
There was nuance. We could handle nuance. We were two completely unattached, consenting adults who just needed to blow off some steam and get laid. It wasn’t anything more than that.
We both knew what the deal was. Jack had agreed. Sure , there were some pesky, threadbare strings, but those would be snipped when I packed up and moved back across the country.
Just the thought of sorting through my things, packing my car, and tackling the nearly thirty-hour drive filled me with dread.
I’d miss waking up with the sun every day since I hadn’t bothered getting curtains. I’d miss hiding on the widow’s watch; being a fly on the wall to someone’s best summer ever.
The beach held the magic of an eternal summer, even when the blazing heat was eventually replaced by bitter cold. There was no way the frigid Atlantic winds could dull its magic.
I’d miss the way it felt like every sense and synapse was engaged the moment salt air filled my lungs. It wasn’t just touch, taste, sight, smell, and sound.
It was nostalgia. The craving for simpler times when cares were few and far between.
It was wanderlust—the intrinsic ache for adventure.
It was pure euphoria.
It was catharsis: the release, letting go.
It was elysian. Idyllic happiness.
How was I supposed to leave the seven hundred senses of summer behind? I’d be turning my back on vivid skies and walking into grayscale monotony.
But life was life. I had to finish the house. I had to find a job. I had to . . . To what? What did I have to do?
Jack rolled onto his back and I bolted. Honestly , I needed to pee badly enough that I should have just used his bathroom. But I wasn’t about to get caught in the awkward morning after. No one looked cute with bedhead and morning breath. The romance novels lie.
I needed to go to the bathroom. I needed to brush my teeth. I needed to shower—because I hadn’t actually done anything more than have an orgasm under running water at Jack’s house. I needed to put on some freaking deodorant.
And I needed to sort through the waterfall of feelings without Jack present. Were there pheromones in his cologne? My head was cloudy around him. I couldn’t think straight.
I had been so ready to get rid of the house, pad my bank account, and then figure out what was next while I drove back to the real world.
Why was I suddenly feeling homesick for a place that wasn’t my home?
I stumbled down the steps of his house and tripped over the hedge before scurrying up the staircase to the front door. I should have snuck around the back. If Jack happened to look out his window, he’d be able to see me busting ass to get inside.
I slammed the door behind me and locked it for good measure before dashing to the bathroom.
Dammit.
I pawed around my clothes even though I knew the answer.
I had left my phone at Jack’s house.
With business taken care of, I made a mad dash for my laptop and sent out a desperate SOS in the group chat.
Wander
PLEASE TELL ME SOMEONE IS AWAKE . DEFCON ONE . I REPEAT , DEFCON ONE .
I could almost always count on Whitney to be awake early in the morning. She still lived on bakery time and started her day when most of us were still dead asleep. West Coast Willow was far less reliable in the morning. She usually logged on around lunch. To my surprise, Willow responded first.
Willow
I forget. Is DEFCON one or DEFCON five the worst?
Whitney
You’re awake?
Willow
I haven’t gone to sleep yet. Pulled an all nighter. On a deadline.
Whitney
I think DEFCON five is the worst. Like , you start at one and go up the scale to five. Or is it like bestseller ranks where no one knows whether to call number one low or high?
Willow
That’s true. Because hitting number one would technically be a low rank. But everyone calls it the “top of the chart.” So is it a high rank?
Wander
OH MY GOD . FOCUS , PEOPLE . DEFCON ONE IS THE WORST . FIVE IS NORMAL LIFE .
Whitney
Okay, cool. So DEFCONs are like ranks. Got it.
Willow
What does DEFCON mean, anyway?
Whitney
Googling now.
Wander
CAN WE PLEASE STAY ON TASK AND TALK ABOUT THIS ?
Whitney
Okay, so DEFCON stands for “defense readiness condition.” Hold on. I’m looking up the history and widespread usage of it.
Willow
God bless Wikipedia .
Wander
I SLEPT WITH JACK .
Whitney
WHAT THE HELL ? WHY DIDN’T YOU START WITH THAT ?
Wander
I TRIED ! AND NOW I’M FREAKING OUT !
Willow
WAS IT AMAZING ? TELL ME IT WAS AMAZING . Can I live vicariously through you? Is that weird? I feel like we’ve been friends long enough that it’s not weird. Did he talk you through it? I feel like he would be the type to talk you through it.
Whitney
We’re way past TMI territory. Nothing can scar us. Also , good for you! Get some!
Willow
I want the short story and then I want the long story.
Willow
Wait. Screw it. I want the extended edition, director’s cut with commentary and bonus scenes.
Whitney
My hands hurt. Can we get on a call?
Willow
I don’t have pants on.
Whitney
Screw the pants! I want the tea!
The trill of the video call request echoed in the empty house. I dashed to the couch and took a deep breath before joining in.
“Spill and don’t leave anything out,” Willow said as her fingers flew over the keys. She had four pens stuck between the brand new pink streaks in her hair and a mountain of coffee cups and travel mugs piled up beside her.
Whitney shrieked when her feed connected. “ Oh my god. You need to go to bed. Or shower.”
“Who has time for showers?” Willow said manically. “ I want the gossip and then I want to sleep for a year when this book is done.”
Whitney sipped primly from a mug that sported the Annie’s Pies logo. “ So . . .”
I dropped my head into my hands. “ I screwed up.”
Willow snickered. “ Sounds like you just got screwed—the fun kind.”
Whitney settled in. “ First thing. Are you okay? Do we need to put our years of body disposal research to good use?”
“No,” I groaned. “ It was fucking awesome. Which , honestly, pisses me off that much more. He fucks like a book boyfriend.”
Willow sucked in a gasp that could have suffocated half of California . “ You take that back. Book boyfriends don’t exist.”
Whitney had a coy smile on her lips. “ Mine does.”
“Miles is the exception,” Willow snapped. “ I don’t know how the hell you found a bodyguard who also fixes your hair.”
“I’m just saying!” Whitney sing-songed. “ They exist!”
“So does rare sea life,” Willow countered. “ But you have to go to the bottom of the Mariana Trench to find them. It’s not worth the effort.”
“Jaded romance author, party of one,” I mumbled under my breath.
Willow flipped me the bird.
“Tell us everything,” Whitney said.
I started from the moment Jack came over after sleeping off his shift and didn’t stop until I had covered the details of my daring escape from his bed this morning. I kept the shenanigans to a Cliff’s Notes version, but the orgasm count was public knowledge.
“ Six ?” Willow shouted. “ I’m sorry. SIX ?!”
Whitney snickered. “ What was that about book boyfriends not existing?”
Willow was flabbergasted. “ I mean, I know you said he fucked like a Norse god, but SIX ?! You greedy, spoiled woman! That’s it.” She slammed her notebook shut. “ I’m hopping on a plane and coming back. Does he have a brother? The friend from the fire station was cute. I’ll settle for him if he knows how to do six .”
The mention of Jack’s brother made my stomach sour. Jack didn’t fall in love or get attached because he was afraid of losing people he cared about. I couldn’t forget that. He had accepted the temporary nature of our fling, but in the heat of our first kiss, he said that he wanted more.
Jack was just as confused as I was. We were identical magnets, repelling but still feeling the energy pulsing between us.
I couldn’t lead him on. I couldn’t give him hope that this could be something. Jack had the words, but he didn’t have the music. I would hurt him if I said I’d stay when I knew I wasn’t going to. He’d hurt me by loving me when every word and act was laced with fear. It would eat him alive.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite wordsmiths.” Miles , Whitney’s husband, appeared behind her wearing hot pink gym shorts and nothing else. It looked like he had just gotten back from working out. The tattoos that covered his entire body were coated in sweat. He kissed the top of Whitney’s head. “ Hey superstar. Hope your morning’s been as pretty as you are.” He looked at the camera. “ Witty Willow and Whimsical Wander . You’re looking lovely as ever. May the word counts come fast and the edits be easy.”
Whitney laughed. “ Are you going to take a shower?”
He tipped her chin up and pecked her lips. “ Yep . Then it’s coffee and off to the office. I’m thinking it’s a ducky shorts and necktie kind of day. Business on top, party on the ass. I haven’t seen that vein in Keller’s forehead enough lately.”
“Your button-ups are hanging up by your swim trunks.” She pointed to the closet behind her, then turned back to us as Miles disappeared out of frame. “ Sorry . Mornings are a little chaotic around here. He always goes for a run, then comes back for coffee before he goes to headquarters.”
I choked on my tongue. “ I’m sorry—he hasn’t had coffee yet?”
Whitney shook her head. “ Nope . That’s him being exhausted. We were up late.”
Willow huffed. “ Don’t tell me you’re getting laid, too.”
“I’m married,” Whitney said. “ Of course I’m getting laid.”
Willow dismissed the notion with the flick of her hand. “ Doesn’t the spark die after there’s a ring? That’s why I always end my books with an engagement. It’s all downhill from there. Might as well end it on a high note.”
If I thought I was disillusioned with the idea of relationships, my feelings were nothing compared to Willow’s . In the blink of an eye, she had gone from the most eligible bachelorette to locking her romance dreams in a steel vault and throwing away the key. I wonder what had happened . . .
Whitney brought us all back to the present. “ If my opinion counts for anything, I think you should take it day by day. Heartbreak is just a part of life. If you already know you’re going to leave at the end of the summer, what’s the harm of really, truly enjoying your current situation to the fullest?”
“Because I don’t want to hurt him,” I admitted. “ Jack . . . He lost someone he was close to. And because of his job, he’s scared it’ll happen again.”
Willow softened. “ That’s an awful way to live.”
“I can’t twist that knife. I can’t live with the guilt of making him believe he can have something when neither of us can commit. It’s not fair. This was just sex. Anything else would be a disservice to us both.”
“But what if it wasn’t just sex?” Whitney asked. “ I think you’re selling yourself short if you think that it was just about the ease of access to orgasms. Your hot water heater broke, and you ran to him. Because , even though you two had just gotten into a disagreement, you knew he’d open the door. That’s not nothing, Aurora .”
It was rare that we used our government names. I never called Whitney “ Annie .”
That’s how I knew she was serious.
I let out a sigh. “ I just don’t know. I? —”
A knock at the door cut me off.