Chapter 8
My internal clock forces me to rise before the sun does, an ivory-skinned man wrapped tightly in my arms. The city lights glisten off his flesh and I brush a strand of caramel locks from his forehead.
I watch his face twist and flex as he dreams. There’s that unfamiliar, burning sensation deep in my chest again, but it’s different this time.
Instead of feeling sharp, and uncomfortable, this feeling is pleasant, warm, exciting.
And instead of falling back into blissful slumber, a dark sense of dread falls over my shoulders.
Panic replaces that warm sensation and I slip out from under the covers, careful to not wake the man next to me.
I need to escape this house. Get out of here and catch my breath.
But as I tiptoe around my apartment, I can’t stand the evidence of last night’s events.
I piece together our outfits from the trail of clothes left across the floor and slip into something clean.
I find Miles’s cell phone near the front door where it must have slipped out in the kerfuffle and sneak it onto the nightstand next to him before placing my pre-written sticky note to the top of it.
I watch his chest slowly rise and fall as he breathes, and hesitate only for a second.
But when that murky feeling returns, I make my leave.
I didn’t realize I’d driven to the gym until I was already in the parking lot.
It’s been my go-to place when things get hard, and I need to clear my head.
My therapist recommended the idea a few years ago during my hiatus, and I’ve been coming here whenever I needed a quiet place to think.
Sure, most people wouldn’t think of the gym as “quiet” with the rhythmic clinking of weight stacks and the loud breathing from gym bros, but once I get my headphones on, everything else evaporates.
I slip on my headphones, wipe down the bench, and start my first round of reps.
I keep my breathing steady and my eyes glued on the mirror in front of me.
The monotony of my movements encourages my thoughts to become organized, and I can finally focus on what’s been bugging me.
I left a very attractive, very erotic man laying in my bed and a part of me wants to go back now, but the larger part of me hesitates.
Every time I look into his eyes, there’s this unfamiliar, burning feeling that seeps into my lungs and tickles my brain in ways I’ve never felt before.
It’s terrifying. It feels like a boundary being crossed without my permission, and my immediate instinct isn’t to confront it—it’s to run.
I force myself to dissect it, desperate for a logical explanation.
Maybe it’s just that I’ve finally opened myself up to new prospects.
Potentially, I’m just widening my pool, stepping out of my comfort zone.
If that’s the case, what’s the harm in a little experimentation?