Chapter 23 Lilly
TWENTY-THREE
LILLY
He’s persistent, and I grow weaker, feeling lost without him.
I’ve been stranded on Misery Island since we returned from Bali. Even though I see him daily like clockwork, it’s not enough. Our separation is gruesome, tearing me apart.
I am at home, putting all the lilies between the empty pages of a notebook I bought to safeguard them.
Every day, I catch myself almost slipping and say screw this.
Food has lost its taste and the bed is uncomfortable. All day long, my mind drifts to him, craving more of him, more of us together.
Staying strong seems like a losing battle. My heart wants to wave the white flag to end up being the casualty in my war of wills.
Every time I tell myself we can pull off the friendship thing, facts remind me it would be a lie.
Every time I steal a glance at him in the elevator, my hands itch to touch him, missing the soft but unyielding press of his mouth on mine.
Everything in me misses everything in him, not only as my friend but also as my lover, my man.
I am in limbo, and it’s excruciating—need, want, love weakening every bit of resolve I gain overnight.
I want to tell him so badly about my day, but I remain resolute. It would be admirable if I didn’t hurt myself in the process. But I hold on to the reminder of my dad praising him once again. His head is where it should be, back in the game.
I fall asleep with longing; I wake up with thoughts of him. I am so used to this routine that I’ve become almost desensitized. Almost will be the cause of my insanity.
The moment I walk out of my door, I feel him watching me.
I pick up the lily and put it in a vase—it’s routine by now. He waits for me because he must enjoy my turmoil.
“Morning,” he says with a disarming smile.
“Morning,” I say, sounding wary.
He leans against the wall, his eyes trailing up and down my body, heating me up.
“You look spectacular.”
I roll my eyes at him, but damn, that fiery gaze does things to me. I think even if I wore a damn burlap sack, he would still look at me as if I were the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
“How much longer?” I mutter.
“Until you give our friendship another chance,” he says matter of factly, pushing himself off the wall.
“Maybe if you’d stop looking at me like that.”
“Would you really want that?” he asks in a low voice, sending my heart rate into a tizzy.
No, I would hate that, so I keep silent.
He’s impossible.
I’m incorrigible.
We’re a total disaster.
When the elevator doors slide open, I hurry to my car, but he’s right next to me. Ugh.
He opens the door for me. “I’ll be away for minicamp. I’ll be gone for the next three days.”
I nod, incapable of forming words, my throat tightening. Three days of not seeing him? The thought chokes my lungs in a death grip, and a stuttered breath escapes my lips.
“I’ll miss you,” he says, full of expectancy.
“I’ll miss you too,” I whisper.
I drive away, all over the place, emotionally, physically, mentally—the trifecta of heartbreak.
In the shop, my best friend drags me toward the office. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She places her hands on my arms, shaking me. “I used to pity your vagina, but now you make me mad.”
I am already on the brink of a breakdown, and she’s not helping. “Kat, please.”
“You’re in love with the guy. I swear he has the patience of a saint.”
“He’ll be away for minicamp,” I choke out.
“Lilly…”
I cut her off. “He’s focused. That’s all that matters.”
“Stop putting that pressure on yourself. It was a one-time thing. He’s not a robot. What if he gets bored with your mixed signals and decides to be with a woman who doesn’t think of being a martyr?”
Her words are like a sharp blade puncturing my heart that deflates instantly.
She takes my hands, offering me a small smile. “Time for tough love.”
I close my eyes for a second—disheartened. “You don’t understand.”
“Babe, not even you understand yourself at this point,” she sighs, leaving me alone to hurt in peace.
I catch myself looking for him around 4 p.m., but he won’t be here today. He’s away. What if one day he stops coming by? Then what? Can I really live with my decision? The questions cram in my head, twisting it into a jumbled mess. I’ll survive, but that’s not the point of living.
My decision to stay away might be selfless, but at the cost of my happiness, it seems stupid.
When we close and lock up the shop for the night, Kat says, “Come over tomorrow.”
That sounds better than my plan of moping around. Trying to busy myself not to think about Ian will only spiral me down until I crack my chest open once I hit rock bottom.
I nod and get in my car, dragging chains of despondency secured around my ankles. I can hear the metal clanking with every step I take.
When I arrive home, I come to a complete stop. On my doorstep lies a box. I pick it up and bring it inside, carrying it to the coffee table.
Opening it reveals a bottle of wine, my favorite chocolate, a bath bomb, and a note from him, making me an emotional mess.
Enjoy your Friday, flower girl.
Tears brim in my eyes. You’re wearing me down, Ian.
I can’t leave his note unanswered. It would be impolite.
I pour myself a glass of wine and go to the bathroom, hoping to unwind. As water fills the bathtub, I throw the bomb that explodes in a rainbow of colors, shimmering on the surface.
Getting in, I snap a selfie of myself submerged and holding a glass of wine. I send it with a text.
Thank you.
Tapping on the edge of the tub, I am a nervous wreck by the time he replies, even though it’s not even thirty seconds later.
I pick up my phone with trembling hands.
Glad you’re putting them to good use.
It would have been a waste.
Yeah, it would.
He hasn’t even been gone for an entire day, and I give in. I’m hopelessly in love with him.
I miss our friendship.
Thank god, I was low-key freaking out.
I giggle and we keep texting. My comatose insides revive, powering me back up.
After relaxing in the tub until my skin prunes, I step out, wrapping a towel around my head and drying myself with another. I put on a cozy bathrobe and carry my empty glass toward the living room.
My phone rings, and when I see it’s him, I pick up right away.
“Hi,” he says, voice raspy.
“Hi, how are you?” I ask, knowing it’s on me to take the next step.
He exhales loudly, the sound ringing with relief. “I’m in the hotel room, waiting for my food.”
I pour myself another glass. “I’ll wait, and we can eat together.”
“Let’s switch to FaceTime.”
When I see his beautiful face on the screen, I itch to trace my finger over his chiseled features.
I hear a knock, and he says, “One second. It must be my dinner.”
He places the phone on the table, propped against a vase. I watch him take the tray from room service and tip him. He’s bare chested and I gulp down the desire, fixating on his face. He’s a perfect male specimen, all potent strength and rippling muscles.
It feels as if our separation didn’t even happen. Just like that, we’re back to our regular intimacy. The familiarity between us is so strong, everything else disappears. Nothing else can penetrate the bubble we find ourselves in.
“I’ve missed you,” he says through a mouthful.
I place my half-eaten chocolate down. “Of course you have. I’m great to have around.”
He throws his head back, laughing. When his eyes find mine, I witness all the restrained love.
“I had a lot of time to think, and it’s on you.”
I tilt my head, feeling my brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
He scrubs a hand down his face, looking tired. “You know where I stand, Lilly. It’s you for me and no one else. I will find out what’s holding you back and smash that reason to smithereens. But until then, I need you in my life, even if we’re just friends.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I could slap myself for that.
He offers a strained nod, and I remember he has practice tomorrow. “You should go to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good night, reckless boy.”
“Good night, flower girl.”
After we hang up, I scroll through the TV, settling on a reality show, getting lost in the drama of other people until my eyes droop.
Afterward, I crawl into bed, thinking it’s on me this time.
I am afraid that one day, the reason I keep holding us back won’t matter.
Ian calls on his way home from minicamp. “I can’t wait to see you,” he says, voice ringing with barely contained eagerness.
It hits me what an awful person I have been. He has abandonment issues, and I just cut him off.
My heart pounds to the point of hyperventilation, each beat thumping with guilt. I just want to crawl into a hole, punishing myself for my selfishness.
“Get ready to be culinarily spoiled,” I say, trying to put a cheer in my tone.
I promise myself right here and now, he’ll never be without me again. It will take a force that is beyond me to leave his life again.
I head to the kitchen, humming to the soft music playing in the background. After preparing the dish, I place it in the oven, and then I prepare a parfait for dessert.
The wine chills in the bottle. Everything is ready for his return.
This resembles more of a date, but the line is so crossed over, it’s irrelevant.
The knock sends a surge of delight through me. He’s here.
My pulse spikes, and I palm my chest to make the unruly muscle behave. Three days of not seeing him have been brutal.
Opening the door, I jump into his arms, undone to my core. I’ve learned nothing. But in his arms, my world is all right. Nothing is missing. Nothing else is needed.
He wraps his arms around me, cocooning me in blissfulness. Placing a kiss between my neck and shoulder, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force back tears. That’s his spot and goose bumps awaken on my feverish skin.
He lowers me down and sniffs around. “That smells delicious.”
“I told you that you’ll get culinarily spoiled.” I grin.
His eyes darken revealing he would like to indulge in something else.
Oh, how I would like that… him to spread me open like a buffet and have his way with me.
He takes his sweater off, offering me the perfect forearm porn. The conflict is real.
Put your tongue back in. I gulp. It’s a feat, but I succeed, not without some struggle.
In the kitchen, I open the oven, and when he sees what I cooked, he chuckles, wiggling his brows. “I ate the first attempt. I’ll do it a second time as well.”
I grab a towel and slap his fine, round ass. The atmosphere is light, playfulness enveloping us.
“I remember someone saying they miss my meals,” I sass.
He palms his chest. “It’s true. I’ve missed everything.”
His sincerity ignites mine. “Me too.”
When the chicken has a golden crust and the vegetables simmer, I take it out, placing it on two heat-absorbing holders on the counter.
He cuts the chicken while I plate the vegetables.
Carrying our dishes to the table, we take a seat across from each other, clinking our glasses.
Hours between us fly like seconds. But it’s getting late, and we both suppress our fifth yawn. I want him to stay over just as much as he doesn’t want to leave.
I am about to tell him to stay when he stands up. “Thank you for the delicious food. The company was better, though.”
I giggle. “I’m never going to make you a parfait again.”
“No. You can’t do that to me.” He pouts, those blue eyes of his giving off a puppy look that melts me.
“Fine.” He’s too charming, and I stand no chance.
“You can’t say no to me.”
He’s right.