Chapter 17
Chicago was a bust.
Christian, the museum curator, didn’t want to talk to me. He was too busy procuring the next big exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago. I thought he was the entire package. Smart, hard-working, and older. The problem was that he didn’t like my lifestyle.
Like Ethan, he liked structure and didn’t divert from his routines to discover new things and live life at large.
Being with him felt like attempting to engage with a bureaucrat whose next available appointment was only open for the following year. And even then, I seemed like an unwelcome interruption, a trivial inconvenience persistently vying for attention in his meticulously organized agenda.
I watched him bustle around his office, barely glancing my way as he rifled through papers and typed furiously on his computer. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed together. It was clear from his body language that if he could, he would’ve propelled me to outer space, hoping he’d never see me again.
That’s when I realized that we were complete opposites, Christian and I. Where he was all rigid lines and schedules, I was fluid and spontaneous, eager to embrace the unexpected. Even though they say opposites attract, in this case the saying is not true. There has to be more to it: a real attraction, enough love to compromise and find some middle ground.
Unsurprisingly, Ethan and I excused ourselves and left to spend a day in Chicago. However, the whole thing frustrated me.
This trip was supposed to give me answers, but with every guy, I only found myself with more questions. And the more time I spent with Ethan, the less I could ignore the memory of our kiss—and the undeniable pull between us.
Every time I think about Ethan, heat creeps up my neck. The images from that night flood my mind unbidden—Ethan’s strong hands gripping my waist, the hot press of his mouth against mine, the way my body melted into his . . .
I have to remind myself that I can’t get distracted by Ethan, his husky voice, and the memory of his seductive mouth. Not when I still have so much soul-searching left to do. But deep down, a small voice whispers that maybe he is the answer I’ve been looking for all along. Not sure how though, but maybe I’ll find it.