31
ANNA
“You’re avoiding me,” Sylas says as he maneuvers himself to stand beside me.
I side-eye him, then lift my gaze to the night sky. “Contrary to what you believe, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Some things really don’t change. You’re still the same egotistical, smug asshole who thinks he’s too important.”
He chuckles, propping his hands on the railing, close to mine. “You’re right, they don’t. I’m an asshole and you’re still a brat with a smart-ass mouth.”
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, then roll my lips together to stop from smiling, but that doesn’t keep the laugh from tickling my throat. His pinky brushes mine and slips over it, rubbing my nail.
I know I should move. I know if I don’t, I’m contradicting everything I’ve asserted, but he was partially right four days ago when he said my body begs for him. Not just my body; every part of me.
“Look at us being consistent. I love that for us,” I quip, and pretend like I’m not on fire, that the shudder that zips down my body isn’t due to him rubbing the pad of his finger on my pinky.
“Why are you avoiding me?” I feel his eyes on the side of my face and his finger curl around mine.
“I’m not avoiding you.” I flit my gaze to the railing before shifting it up to him. “I’m just carving space out.” It’s comical to say that considering what he’s doing and how I’m simply letting him.
“There’s already too much of it.” He pulls me closer. “I hate it.”
It’s pathetic how my heart thunders at the proximity. “You’ve forgotten we’re not together. That is why there is the said space.”
“I’ve not forgotten.” His gaze descends to my mouth, and he lifts his free hand to cup my neck. I swallow as his thumb caresses the column of it. “I think about it every day.”
This isn’t the time to focus on his large hand—how I missed the feel of it against me, and how I want him to squeeze my throat.
He leans down, and the pads of his fingers dig faintly into my neck. My eyes flutter, and a noise threatens to work its way out from the back of my throat.
“Say the words and you know I’ll do it.” His mouth skims my ear. “Tell me what you want, what you need, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you.”
I squeeze my thighs together, grind my teeth, and attempt to steady my breathing, but his fingers dig deeper.
I want him. My desire to have more of his skin against mine is fierce, my desperation intense.
I almost cave as the pit in my stomach tightens and my nipples harden.
But I’m able to hook back to reality and remind myself why I’ve been adding the space.
“I can take care of myself.” I wrap my hand around his wrist and shift his hand away. I keep my eyes on his face and not the erection I know is tenting his shorts. “Worry about taking care of yourself. Good night.”
Clementine enters the back room. Leaning a hip against the table, she folds her arms against her chest. “So are you going to tell me why you’ve been weird, or continue to be quiet?”
“I’m not being weird.” I box the malted coconut cake with mango yuzu curd that’ll be picked up in a few.
“Right, no, of course not,” she drawls. “You’re just quiet, huffing and puffing for no reason, and tense.”
When she puts it that way, I realize just how stiff my shoulders and neck are. I roll them a few times and tilt my head from side to side until it pops.
“I’m living with Sylas.” I turn, brushing my bangs away from my forehead. “It’s not easy being around him, and last night, I had this dream…” I rub my tired eyes, but they only grow heavier, and then my face heats.
“What kind of dream?” Her eyes light up, and a sly smile curls on her face. “Was it perverted?”
I shift on my feet and pick up my water, taking a long drink from it, but it does nothing to quench my thirst. “Trust you to think that.”
“Oh, shut up.” She playfully swats my arm. “Don’t act like that’s not what you insinuated.”
After I left the terrace, I went straight to bed. Rosie wanted to sleep with Maya, so it didn’t take long for me to drift off, and when I did, I had the filthiest dream.
In it, he was fucking me in every position, degrading me, choking me.
I woke up in the middle of the night with my hand between my thighs.
I should’ve stopped but instead I replayed the dream, remembered how I rode his thigh, and fingered myself.
But that didn’t feel enough, so I grabbed my vibrator, lay on my stomach, and came three times to the thought of Sylas.
I rub my warm hand on the back of my hot neck. “Yeah, it was dirty and made me realize I’m sexually frustrated. I haven’t been with anyone since Sylas, and having him around again is a lot. And then he says things and looks at me and…fuck. It makes me want him, but I can’t, I shouldn’t.”
“So this is just a suggestion, but why not sleep with him?” she muses, as if it were that simple. “And hear me out before you cuss me out.” She lifts a finger when I narrow my eyes at her. “You obviously still miss the sex if you’re having dreams about him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Dumb it down for me then. I don’t understand.”
“You know he wants me back, but I don’t want him back.”
A Cheshire grin stretches wide across her face. “Do you not ever get tired of living in delusion, of lying to yourself? Because I hear the bullshit that comes out of your mouth and I’m exhausted.”
I lift my middle finger. “Ha ha, so funny.”
She kisses my finger, but I swat her off. “You’re hard to read sometimes, but when you talk about that man, it’s clear as day. I know it’s complicated between the two of you, but you’re living with him, so why not make the best of it? Set some rules, and when you move out, end things.”
I laugh as I think back to when we were in college. “It’s not going to work. We tried the whole fake-dating thing once. That’s actually what landed me in this predicament.”
“Well, it’s either you fuck Sylas or you find someone else.”
The bell chimes out front, and when I look through the window, I find a man waving at me, flashing me a friendly smile.
“It’s your favorite customer.” She snorts as she grabs the box and heads to the counter.
Jackson has been coming to Everything Everything since we opened. He’s in every few weeks, and each time, he asks me out.
There’s nothing wrong with him. In fact, he checks off most of the green flags. He’s employed, is not married or in any kind of relationship (Clementine confirmed this), he’s attractive, charming, and has even managed to make me laugh.
I could have said yes—there’s nothing wrong with him—but after my last failed attempt to put myself out there, I’ve had no interest.
“Sweets.” Em pokes her head in, grinning mischievously. “Jackson wants to talk to you. You want me to tell him you’re busy?” she whispers.
I almost say no, then decide against it. “No, I’m coming.”
We switch positions, and I take her place behind the counter.
“Anna, hey.” Jackson stands tall, holding the bag of pastries he bought and gently patting the box. “Thanks for the cake.”
“What’s the special occasion?” I know there’s one because it’s a three-day cake process.
“Mom’s birthday,” he answers happily.
“Oh, tell her I said happy birthday. Do you want me to write something on it?”
“No, it’s okay, she likes it like this.” He glances at the front door and back at me. “I won’t hold you up. I know you’re busy running the bakery. I just wanted to see if you by chance weren’t busy next week? Say Saturday…after you finish?”
I’ve told Sylas to move on, but I haven’t. I need this. If I don’t try, I know I’ll never move on.
“I’m actually not busy. What do you have planned?”