Chapter Thirty-One
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MARK
The office feels quieter than usual, though the noise level hasn’t actually changed. Phones ring, keyboards clack, and voices hum in conversation, but it all sounds muffled. Or rather, I’m too lost in my own head to register most of it. I’ve been rereading the same email for the past five minutes, skimming over the words but failing to register their meaning.
I came in to the office hoping to focus on work, because I knew if I stayed home, the only thing I’d be able to focus on is the sweet, beautiful blonde in the other room.
Claire’s face flashes in my mind for the millionth time today—not that it’s ever really left for more than a few seconds at a time. The way she had blown my mind on vacation the first time I saw her in that swimsuit, the way everything had felt brighter when we spent the days together, the beautiful sight of her coming apart under my touch.
Focus , I tell myself .
It’s not working.
She’s everywhere in my head, permeating my every thought because of how constant her presence has become in my life. It’s not even just the memories from vacation or the blissful few days I spent making her come over and over again. As incredible as those things were, there’s more to it than that. I’ve always been able to separate sex from emotion, but it’s almost impossible with Claire. It’s like a positive feedback loop where, no matter what she does (whether sexual or not), I want her more in every capacity.
And even though the sex is fucking incredible, it’s the things she does in the small, quiet moments that really get to me. The way she holds her coffee cup with both hands because she likes how warm it feels. The way her nose scrunches when she’s writing in her notebook and trying to think of a word. The way she dances around the house as she cleans when she thinks I’m not looking. All of it flits through my mind like a movie reel.
It’s frustrating.
I told her from the start this was supposed to be simple. No strings attached, no commitment. Two people who needed an escape, nothing more. We were on the same page.
Then I went and complicated it by doing everything I shouldn’t have. Touching her like she means something. Holding her like she’s not just temporary. Kissing her like I’m trying to memorize the taste of her for when she’s gone.
Because she will be.
People leave. It’s just what they do. After all, the brightest flames burn the fastest. Sure, she might have feelings for me now, but once she realizes just how much opportunity is out there for her, she’ll be gone. I won’t let myself get hurt by hoping she’ll stay .
I’ve learned that lesson, having been stupid enough to believe in people before, to let myself think I’m worth sticking around for. And every damn time, I’ve been proven wrong. Even the few people who were supposed to love me unconditionally were sick of me within a few years. My mother first, then my father a few years later, and my grandmother only took me in out of obligation once my father passed. Now, she’s gone too. Shane is the only one who’s stuck around, and even he is getting more distant by the day.
Claire’s here now, but she won’t be forever.
Anyway, she deserves better than me, someone who doesn’t carry this much baggage. Someone who doesn’t always assume the worst, who doesn’t keep people at arm’s length because he’s scared of how much it’ll hurt when they’re gone.
It’s a frustrating way to live life, but a necessary one. Besides, there’s a lot more room for fun and excitement when attachments are temporary.
But God, I want her. I want her so bad it causes a literal ache in my chest. Every time I tell myself to let go, to pull back before I get too far in, she does something that pulls me in closer. She’ll smile at me unexpectedly, or come out of her shell a little more by making an inappropriate joke, or dance around the living room while she’s cleaning without knowing I’m watching—and it’s like gravity itself is pulling me toward her. Like I couldn’t walk away even if I wanted to.
Which, clearly, I don’t. The idea of her not being in my life anymore makes my stomach twist. But wanting her and keeping her are two very different things. And if I let myself believe I could actually keep her, I’m just setting myself up for the kind of pain I’ve spent my whole life avoiding.
"Mark?"
I blink, realizing that one of my coworkers is standing next to my desk, holding a stack of files. She’s been trying to get my attention, apparently, and I didn’t even notice she approached.
"Yeah," I say, clearing my throat. "Sorry. What’s up?"
She raises an eyebrow. "You okay? You’ve been staring at your screen like you forgot how to read."
"Fine. Just a lot on my mind." It’s not exactly a lie.
"Uh-huh," she says, not buying it for a second. But she doesn’t press. Instead, she says, "Well, we’ve got a couple new hires on the software development team, so you’ll need to give them the rundown later this week after they’ve finished onboarding."
"Got it," I say, writing it down on a sticky note so I don’t forget.
She walks away, and I prop my head up on my hand. I need to get my shit together. I’m not the kind of guy who lets his head get clouded by feelings.
I keep things compartmentalized. Clean. Simple. And this is a fucking mess.
It would be easier if she were wrong for me in some obvious way, if she were selfish or shallow or argumentative, but she’s not. She’s kind and intelligent and funny in an understated way that catches me off guard. She’s so much better than what I deserve, Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about her. Because part of me, no matter how much I try to shove it down, wants to believe I could be good enough for her. That just maybe she’d choose to stay with me if I asked her to.
But that’s not how this will end. She’ll move on and find someone who’s more suited for her new life than I am, and I’ll be left wondering why I ever let myself think otherwise. I can’t do that to myself. Or her, for that matter. There’s so much opportunity out there for her that she’ll miss if she stays holed up in the apartment with me.
I should put those boundaries back firmly in place while I still have the chance, but it’s not that simple. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m already in too deep.
My phone buzzes on the desk, and a smile tugs at the corners of my lips when I see her name on the screen.
"Hey, hope your day’s going okay. Miss you."
She misses me. That should be annoying considering we literally saw each other last night, but somehow it’s not. After spending so much time together on vacation, it feels weird to be apart now.
Which is half the reason you came into the office today, I remind myself. I need to have some space from her because I’m apparently losing myself in the temporary bliss of being with her. I can’t let that go too much further.
I type out a response that’s safe and casual, then delete it. Then I type another and delete that too. Finally, I settle on:
" Busy day here, but I’ll see you later. "
It’s short, borderline cold, and I hate myself a little for sending it. But my mind is reeling between wanting her so badly it hurts and knowing that it’ll hurt even more if I let her in fully. It’s a situation of bad versus worse.
The rest of the day drags on in a blur of half-hearted work and frequent glances at my phone, even though I know she’s not going to reply. I’ve given her nothing to respond to, and that’s for the best. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.
By the time the work day is over, my head is pounding. Ironically, the one person stressing me out is also the only one that could make me feel better right now. But just because my heart is apparently trying to cross lines right now doesn’t mean that we can’t keep up our arrangement, because God knows I won’t be able to stop touching her now that I’ve started .
I drop my bag by the door and head straight for the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of my best whiskey and pouring more than I probably should into a glass before collapsing on the couch.
This is why I didn’t want to get involved. This feeling, this mess, this… whatever the hell it is, isn’t worth it. But even as I tell myself that, I know I’m lying. Because if I had the chance to go back, to undo meeting her, I wouldn’t.
I’m screwed, and I know it. But for now, all I can do is hold on to what’s left of my self-control and hope like hell it’s enough to keep me from falling any further.