Chapter 15 Lilly
FIFTEEN
LILLY
Everything is forgotten when he looks at me like I mesmerize him—as if there’s no one else but me, warming my heart, stealing all the pieces at once with just one gaze. His dark blue eyes—my personal night sky—hold me captive in his mysterious allure.
He finishes his breakfast, kisses my cheek, and he is off, leaving me with a forlorn heart and his heady scent lingering in the air.
His absence drowns me in longing, even if it’s for just a short period.
It’s only now that I can think straight again. I should have apologized as well. I acted like a girlfriend inquiring where he had been, as if it were my right.
I am teetering on the edge just as much, longing weakening me to the point I want to shout out that I feel the same.
Pocketing my feelings in my chest feels like a betrayal of my heart.
My body hungers for him, aching to be touched, kissed, possessed by him, needing to feel him inside me as he calls me his.
I hope my father won’t give him grief today.
Ian has enough to deal with. But a professional athlete must shove everything else going on with them deep inside to perform.
They don’t have it easy, even with all the money and fame.
The crowds, coaches, and everyone else expect their investment to perform.
I wish I could hug him and never let go, cocoon him in love, and assure him he’s more than enough for me.
I head to my place, getting ready for work. Smiling, I remember how he moaned low in his throat when I fed him a forkful of omelet. How his mouth closed around the fork, and for a second, I imagined it closing around my nipple. A fiery ripple of desire skitters down my back. Bad thoughts.
The thing with cooking is that I never had the opportunity to learn how. My mom would always order takeout, and when I was at my dad’s place, it was the same. While my friends could cook, I would either order out or make a sandwich for myself. I will rectify that.
I like it, testing out recipes. It helps that I am not the only adult in my class who struggles. It bothers me that Ian cooks better than I do. I am a bit competitive, which also motivates me.
I park at the back of the store and slip inside.
After the morning rush, I accompany Kat to her dress appointment.
In the small bridal boutique, her parents are there, sipping from glasses of champagne. My friend gazes at the beautiful dresses displayed all around the space. In the corner by the window, a velvety sofa rests. In front of it, there’s a glass table with wedding magazines stacked on top.
A friendly young brunette saleswoman greets us, asking who the bride is.
My best friend answers with a squeal, clasping her hands together on her chest.
I sit down next to her parents and another staff member brings me a glass of champagne. Taking a small sip, the bubbles prickle on my tongue.
“I can’t believe this day has come,” her mother says with a nostalgic tilt.
“Our baby girl is all grown up,” her father adds, emotions clear in his voice.
Seeing all the white dresses makes me imagine things I have no business thinking about, such as my own wedding. Ian materializes in my vision, and I shut my eyes, not knowing if I’d like to preserve the image or force it away.
I open them when a gasp comes from my right side. My eyes turn glassy when I see my beautiful friend in a wedding dress. The emotional moment passes as she watches herself in the mirror, scrunching at the A-line, simple but elegant dress.
“Don’t like it.”
We burst into laughter. It goes on for four more dresses.
She either likes the top of one or the bottom of another.
One dress is too fluffy, the other is too revealing.
I know the fifth dress is “the one” when she cups her mouth, her eyes welling up.
It’s an embroidered mermaid dress, a perfect combination of elegance and glamour, fitting my friend perfectly.
I let her parents have a moment with her before I stand up, hugging her.
“You look amazing,” I murmur.
“You think Theo will like it, because if he doesn’t cry when he sees me, I am leaving him standing at the altar,” she cries softly.
I take her hands, smiling. “We both know you’ll take his breath away.”
She spends the rest of the day with her parents, so I drive back to the shop.
The manager greets me, telling me everything is going smoothly with the orders, and I busy myself by going through new drink ideas.
With the help of my newest employee, Stephany, we tweak the recipe until we’re happy with the result.
It’s six by the time I leave for my cooking class, running a bit late. There are two men and three women, while our instructor says, “We’ll move to lunch ideas for the week.”
It’s a four-week class. The first week included learning the basics, and then we moved to various breakfast alternatives. For the next ninety minutes, we learn about the best heating temperature and how long it takes for chicken to fry, bake, or broil.
At the end of the class, we each present our dish. I can’t wait to bring this home and have Ian try it.
When the elevator doors ping open, I realize I use my apartment more as storage. The thought does nothing to penetrate the bubble of self-deception. I guess my rationality took a vacation, slurping a cocktail while leaving me to dive into insanity some more.
Self-preservation instinct. What is that?
Letting myself into his loft, I see him playing a video game. He looks cute with the headphones on, a frown of deep concentration lining his forehead. He’s dressed in my kryptonite: a T-shirt that clings to every plane of muscle and gray sweatpants.
I gulp and pray to the chastity god to keep my thoughts platonic and PG-related. I am pretty sure at this point I’d come with barely a touch from him.
He quits the game as soon as he notices me. This man ruins me for anyone else.
He cocks his head, a big smile on his face, flexing his muscles.
“Show off,” I breathe out, visibly affected.
The smirk teasing his face confirms he knows what he’s doing to me. “I work hard for it, baby.”
Our eyes widen at the endearment.
He grumbles, “Shit.”
I wave him off.
We both slip from time to time. I think we exited denial and are now full speed toward delusion.
He sniffs the air and notices the bag I carry.
I lift it, grinning. “Honey, I made dinner.”
He wiggles his brows. “Honey, I’m glad you stopped wanting to give me food poisoning.”
I gasp, placing a hand on my chest in a faux offense.
While he sets the table, I pull out the contents. Roasted chicken and vegetables on a bed of sweet potatoes. He looks from the dish to me with a dip of his chin.
“I think you want to move from girlfriend to wife,” he says in a playful tone.
“You would have gone to your knees even without me cooking,” I say, the self-assuredness taking me by surprise.
“I would.”
A shaky breath tumbles out of my mouth. It feels like we stopped being playful and the conversation has turned serious. Friends shouldn’t talk about such serious topics.
Eyes locked, the connection between us sizzles with the knowledge only our hearts admit.
We eat in thick silence, and that reminds me we need distance once again.
I am about to suggest that, but it’s like he senses whenever I pull away.
He throws the anchor straight in my chest, roping me in with such ease, reminding me how na?ve it is of me to even think I could distance myself from him.
“Play a video game with me,” he suggests, his tone insistent.
I give in. “Ready to get your ass kicked?”
“Keep dreaming, flower girl.”
The tension diffuses as we embark once again on blissful ignorance.
We move onto the plush rug, our backs leaning against the foot of the sofa.
The asshole keeps finding me and killing me off. I burn his side with a deadly stare. I’ll show you.
After I take him down, I shoot up. Raising my hands in the air, I bounce up and down, not containing my excitement. “I won. I won.”
He raises a perfectly thick eyebrow. “You killed me once. The score is 10 to 1.”
I stick my tongue out. “You’re a lousy loser.”
He bends over, laughing. The rich, deep sounds fill my insides—like a helium balloon cut free and flying straight into the sky.
We keep playing and I kill him two more times. I call it a startling success, refusing to acknowledge the end score.
When we go to bed, I turn around and we meet in the middle. He kisses the dip of my neck and turns around—back to back. It’s intimate. We always fall asleep in that position and wake up a tangled mess, which we ignore as usual.
We’re both in the bathroom, getting ready for the day. While he brushes his teeth, I style my hair—domesticated paradise.
I love everything about his loft, from the open space to the darker tones and wood accents.
But the bathroom is my favorite. It’s spacious and features all the finest amenities, including an ample sink, a mirror occupying the entire wall, and a shower with an integrated bench.
The shower head sprays down in different settings, jets massaging your whole body from various angles.
Not to mention the tub that can fit three people.
He catches me gazing at the tub. “You can use it whenever you want.”
This feels like agreeing to more. I wouldn’t even be surprised if we end up moving in together and only to realize it years later. We disregard facts and whatever happens between us with such proficiency that we could be studied for a mental disorder.
I clear my throat. “Any plans after the Super Bowl?”
Even though he’s not flashing his wealth, he has enough money to afford pretty much anything. Do and go wherever he wishes.
“Depends on if I win.”
I wave him off. “You’re going to win.”
He scratches his neck, shrugging. “I’ve never taken a real vacation.”
My jaw drops, not believing it. “What? Really?”
“Just weekend trips, mostly. Where would you go?”
I don’t even have to think about it. The location is at the tip of my tongue. “Bali, the Hanging Gardens Resort. It looks dreamy.” It’s without a doubt my ultimate vacation destination.
The corners of his mouth arch up in a teasing smile. “Maybe I’ll go there.”
I slap his arm playfully. “Don’t steal my vacation idea.”
“Or you could come with me?” he asks low, awakening a myriad of butterflies in my belly.
Our eyes lock in the mirror. There’s expectancy flickering in his.
Tilting my head, I chew on my lip. “I’d love to, but…”
“We could stay for as long as you can.”
He makes it impossible for me to decline. Friends go on vacations together. Ugh, shut up already. Kat would kill me if I left her alone for long. Maybe I could leave for like ten days.
We move to the kitchen, where I prepare breakfast: oatmeal with cut bananas, blueberries, a drizzle of honey, and a sprinkle of almonds on top, a ginger and orange shot, and a side of scrambled eggs.
It’s this unshakable urge that pushes me.
I love taking care of him. There’s nothing more fulfilling than him eating my meals with gusto, groaning in pleasure.
In front of the apartment complex, we kiss on the cheek, not even an inch left between our mouths. Breathing each other in, he places his forehead on mine and I grip the front of his shirt.
“Lilly.”
“Ian.”
His lips move lower. I suck in a breath, my erratic beating heart threatening to propel out of my chest, eager to kiss heaven, when a honk blasts through, startling me.
I jump a step back. Awkwardly, we wave goodbye to each other and stumble into our cars. Damn, that was close. Too close. Not close enough.
In the office, I look up the Hanging Garden Resort when Kat peers at the screen from behind my back. “See, you’re working hard.”
“Did I tell you lately you’re no fun?” I huff.
She taps the tip of my nose. “Shut up, you love me, and I have an impeccable sense of humor.”
“You’re hilarious,” I say sarcastically.
She flicks her hair back, blowing me a kiss. “I know. It’s hard being this perfect.”
I freaking love her confidence.
I scroll through the pictures of the paradise on earth location, and she says, “Wow, that looks amazing.”
“I proposed it to Ian as a vacation idea this morning.”
“And?”
I bite my lip, thoroughly indecisive now that his presence doesn’t obscure my rationality. “And he asked me if I’d like to join him.”
She puts her hands on her waist. “Good lord, fuck already, put a label on serious getting married and be done.”
“Kat,” I groan, placing my face between my hands.
“If you don’t fuck by then, you’ll fuck there. I hope his insurance will cover the bed costs.”
“You’re incorrigible.” I giggle, watching the screen. “I don’t know.”
“Hey, it’s okay. Take the vacation. I’ll be going on a honeymoon too,” she insists.
“Sure?”
She glares at me, pumping her fist in the air. “Did I stutter? I’m cheering for your poor vagina. Go sex.”
I shake my head at her, but I stand up, squeezing her in a hug. “Nothing will happen. We both have impeccable control.”
Is the universe on to me for lying my ass off?
A juicer in the store breaks, and the wait for someone to repair it takes forever. Then there is a fruit and vegetable delivery mix-up. To top that, the electricity goes off because of a nearby construction site, and nothing works anymore. Can’t this day end already?
When Ian texts me, I’m so overwhelmed that I would like to cry and hide in a corner.
You have this. Come on, flower girl. Breathe in, breathe out, and go tackle the issues. One by one.
His unwavering support and encouragement help keep me sane as I take a deep breath and return to work. And one by one, I solve the problems.