Chapter 6 Isaac
Isaac
As the timer on my treadmill hits sixty minutes, I continue my eight-minute pace for one more mile.
My legs and lungs are burning, but I need the distraction.
Seeing Olivia on TV—even talking to her on the phone—that I can handle.
Having her here, close enough I can touch her?
It’s out of the question. There’s no way I can see her without wanting to feel her in my arms, taste her sweet lips, or breathe in the rose and vanilla on her neck.
I doubt she wears the same scent, but years later, any time I smell either, I’m transported back to being with her.
Extra cardio tonight is a necessity.
I’ve always balked at the idea of soulmates; finding the one person you’re supposed to spend forever with is a fantasy.
Mostly because I found her and lost her.
If you’re truly soulmates, aren’t you supposed to endure any hardship?
We survived exactly two weeks long-distance before we both had to walk away.
It hurt too fucking much to be hours away from her, and the ache never subsided over the years.
After my workout, I take a quick shower, but my legs are still on fire from overdoing it.
Even with stretching, I’m going to feel it in the morning.
I quickly wash off, then start the water to my jetted bathtub, adding in bath salts that should help with the physical ache—there’s nothing that can heal the emotional one.
As I slip into the bubbling water, my muscles are already screaming with relief.
Once I’m fully submerged, I rest my head on the edge of the tub, enjoying the swirl of hot water around me.
While I savor the heat, a memory dances across my mind—Olivia and I in a hot tub during our Thanksgiving break in college.
She couldn’t afford to fly home, and I didn’t want to be away from her for that long, so she came home with me to Halifax.
After visiting with my family, we booked a hotel and never left the room except to use the hot tub or to swim.
I had her all to myself. No school, no work…
It was the best few days of my life, even if her black bikini still haunts me.
“Why are you all the way over there?" I teased. It doesn’t matter how many times we had sex, I always needed her near me.
“If I come any closer, you’ll have my swimsuit off me in ten seconds,” she laughed, playing with the jacuzzi bubbles. “I should’ve brought a one-piece.”
“Why? Do you really think a little extra fabric would keep me from touching you?”
Livy was always fun and spontaneous when we were alone. It was a side of her she reserved only for me. The sweet, unassuming facade cracked whenever we were together. Her removing the bikini bottoms and tossing them at me still lives rent-free in my mind.
She knew it would be my undoing. With us being in public, I didn’t do more than kiss her. But now? If she dared to do it again, I’d lift and twist my little temptress until her chest was pressed against the pavement, and feast on her until we’re caught.
I’ve always considered myself as a calm, reserved man.
Many would say quiet, even. It’s a struggle being in public office when I’d rather be behind the scenes.
But when I was with Olivia, she pulled something out of me from deep in my soul that I never could explain.
In therapy, I brushed it away as some primal, caveman shit, but it was something else entirely, almost as if Livy and I both gave into other versions of ourselves when we were together.
Even now, the mere mention of her name awakens it.
Closing my eyes, I let myself give in. When she comes here, would she still be my good girl, letting me play with her until I’m satisfied?
Then again, I never would be satiated. I don’t just need her body; I want to have her craving me when we’re apart, to imprint myself on her as she did to me all those years ago.
More than that, I want her to be mine again.
As I let out a deep sigh, I resist gripping my throbbing cock at the thought.
I purposefully didn’t add the essential oil blend I had created a few years ago that smells exactly like her.
Now I wish I had added it to the water, if only to pretend she was here.
I miss her fighting me during the day, then on her knees begging when we were alone.
Her fire was just as addictive as her submission.
Screw it. I’ve fucked my hand to the thought of her hundreds of times. What’s one more?
Sliding my fist up and down my length, I selfishly imagine it’s her, kneeling before me as she licks from my heavy balls to the tip.
Her bright brown doe eyes looking up at me, she’d need me to fill that smart mouth of hers.
I’d make her wait, just like I did when we were younger.
Back then, I always wanted her to come at least three times before I dared to sink myself inside her. Now, I’d make her count to ten.
It doesn’t take long to find a rhythm that has me coming hard and fast, with her name spilling from my lips.
My eyes fly wide, and I sit up straighter.
I can’t keep doing this, torturing myself with a memory.
I’d give up everything, if it meant there was even the smallest chance of keeping her.
But how the fuck am I supposed to win her back? We aren’t kids anymore.
I drain the tub and rinse off. No matter how much my cock protests, I don’t go for a round two. This is bigger than jerking off again to the idea of a hypothetical. Olivia and I were always supposed to be together. Period. And it’s about time I did something about it.
Checking the time, I could pull an all-nighter, brainstorming ways to win over a woman who doesn’t want or need me. Or I could be a sensible man and go to bed early.
I’m not a sensible man.
Once I’m dried off and dressed, I climb into bed with my laptop and search: ways to win back the love of your life after fifteen years. It yields very few helpful results.
HOW TO WIN BACK AN EX IN THREE EASY STEPS
I click on it, but it’s behind a paywall. I try the next one.
TEN GIFTS YOUR EX WON’T LAUGH ABOUT WITH HER THREE-PERSON GROUP CHAT
Also, incredibly useless. It may as well include a romantic comedy guide for men who have no clue what they’re doing—which would actually be helpful, since I, in fact, have absolutely no fucking clue what I’m doing.
After a scroll, I find one that might do the trick.
MASTERING THE DRUNK TEXT WITH YOUR EX
If only I could tell when she’s drinking, I could text first.
A little drunk flirting never hurt anyone…
I try another.
QUIZ: WHICH TOXIC EX-BOYFRIEND ARE YOU?
It’s so incredibly fucked up, but I click anyway.
Question 1: Who is at fault for the break-up?
Me
My ex
Neither, it was amicable
It sure as fuck wasn’t amicable—I’m still not over her. Still, I click neither.
Question 2: Which best describes your current relationship status?
Single
Married
It’s complicated
It’s definitely complicated, but I click single.
After ten more questions, my quiz results suggest I’m the “hung-up on your ex” ex-boyfriend. I didn’t need an online test to tell me that. Biggest waste of time.
Olivia needs more than a bullshit grand gesture the internet conjured up.
At any point in the last decade, I could’ve reached out or walked away from the path to public office to be with her.
I thought I was fine, that I’d moved on, until I heard her voice.
All of the clichés meshed together at once, just like it did when I first talked to her all those years ago.
I need to be smart about this. She’s coming here in a few months, and if I have any say in it, she’ll be mine before the time she leaves.
I don’t know how, but I’ve been given the opportunity of a lifetime, and I’m not going to squander it.
After a good night’s sleep—or as best as one can have while obsessing about an ex-girlfriend—I prepare a cup of coffee and scroll using my burner social media account.
I can’t help ‘liking’ all of the posts tagging Olivia while I wait for my coffee to brew.
It isn’t until I’m about to grab my cream that I notice which account I’m using.
Fuck!
It isn’t as if I can go back and un-like everything. The damage is done. I can’t call my team about this, and instead call my sister, Nicole. Thankfully, she picks up on the first ring, answering, “I was wondering when I would be hearing from you.”
“How do you undo a massive amount of likes on social media?” I snap.
“Good morning to you too. I’m guessing this is about Olivia Harris and her recent win in California?”
“No,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Bullshit.”
“Fine, if you won’t help me with my current predicament, hypothetically, in one of those romance books you read—you know, the second-chance ones—how many days does it take for the girl to fall in love with the guy?”
“It’s fiction, so, I don’t know, five-ish days. But you’re going to need more than a week to win Olivia back if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m not,” I lie, rubbing the back of my neck.
Nicole lets out a full laugh. “You’ll need five months, not days, baby brother.”
“I don’t have five months! I’ll be lucky if I have five minutes with her.”
“Isaac,” she sighs, “after all this time, you really think you can just woo her as if you never spent a moment apart?”
“Basically,” I grumble, hating how she’s right.
“Fuck, you’re an idiot. When is the event everyone is losing their shit over?”
“February or March. We haven’t secured a date.”
Nikki chuckles, but it’s full of mischief. “You have more than five days. Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll meet you at the office. I’m not going to let you fuck this up a second time.”