Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
But eventually, we have to separate, and the reality of the situation comes crashing back. What we just shared was beautiful, but it was also fleeting. I knew before we ever started that there was no future for us, and I'd made peace with it. But now, lying here in his arms, it's harder than ever to accept.
I know it's silly, but I can't help but feel like we were meant to find each other. Like there's something between us that was always supposed to happen. It's a foolish thought, but I can't shake it.
Even in the afterglow, he's perfect, ordering us room service and feeding me French fries with his fingers once it arrives. I have to consciously remember my fake identity as a bartender, but it's hard when he's so easy to talk to, so eager to learn about me. I find myself trailing off onto subjects like fashion magazines before correcting the course and being more vague. I can't tell him anything real, and I hate that.
But eventually, the late night catches up with us, and I find myself drifting off in his arms. He holds me close, his warmth seeping into my bones, and I sleep better than I have in years.
Then I wake up the next morning, and I panic.
It hits me all at once that I slept with a stranger and told him something personal about my life. I've never done anything like this before, and the thought of how stupid I'd been has me scrambling for my clothes.
"Laurie?" Adam sits up, his voice still thick with sleep. "What are you doing?"
I yank on my jeans, not meeting his eye. "I have to go. I'm sorry."
He frowns, reaching out to take my hand. "Hey, slow down. It's okay."
I shake my head, my heart racing. "No, it's not. I shouldn't have done this. I'm sorry."
He gets up, pulling on his boxer briefs before standing in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. "Laurie, it's okay. Whatever you're worried about, it's okay. I had an amazing time with you last night."
But I'm already shaking my head. "No, I'm sorry. I have to go."
And I do. I rush out the door, leaving him standing there, looking confused and hurt. It kills me, but I don't know what else to do. The tears hit as soon as I burst out of the hotel, and the feeling of them hot and wet on my cheeks, combined with the misery of leaving him behind, is what finally wakes me up.
I gasp, shooting up in bed, holding my comforter to my chest as I take in my darkened bedroom. With shaking fingers, I reach up and feel the wetness of real tears on my cheeks. It's so much worse knowing that he's right down the hall. I could go to him and ease this pain in seconds, but now it's wrong. Taboo. Forbidden. He's the last man I should want.
Yet, as I try to fall back asleep, praying I don't dream of him again, a plan starts to form in my mind. What if I ignore the red flags and pursue him anyway? Just to get it out of my system. I hold onto that spot of brightness, that possibility, as I finally manage to doze off.
It’s 8 a.m. and reality is here, loud and unwelcome. I’ve got 364 more mornings ahead with Adam Lawson just a few doors away, and the dream about our night together is so tangible I can almost feel the echo of his fingers on my skin.
I consider languishing in bed for the rest of the day, but the smell of coffee and the fact that my mother is leaving for an entire year in less than an hour are enough to get me moving. I consider changing, making myself more presentable, but if Adam is going to be here for an entire year, then he better get used to both glamour Laurie and loungewear Laurie.
I shuffle down the stairs, hair thrown in a messy bun, and my mood already done for. It lifts a smidgen when I see that it's just Mom and Craig, dressed in their jet-setting best, in the kitchen. I tell Mom goodbye, doing my best to act totally fine and not like I'm teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown.
I'm halfway through the goodbyes when a tall figure walks around the corner to join us, and I'm right back to being pissed off all over again. Wearing a simple white T-shirt and dark jeans that shouldn’t look so good on him, his duffle bag slung over one shoulder, Adam looks a thousand times more prepared for the day than I do. His hair is tousled, like he just ran a hand through it, and his face is set in that unreadable expression of his—cool, collected, and maddeningly handsome.