Hannah already lives here.
Our pretend playhousebecomes a love bubble.
Evenings spent over the chess board, on the dock with hot chocolate, and sprawled on the couch in our pajamas.
We lie in bed at night exchanging stories. She tells me about her day, we make plans for Pops’ memorial. She asks about my scars and tattoos. I kiss her. I kiss her a lot. Only chastely, lingering just long enough for the weight in my lungs to ease and that low sleepy hum to rattle the back of her throat. I touch her when she asks me to.Practice touchesis what we coin them. I stay within the boundaries she sets, my hands coasting over her skin until she drifts off.
The first night, the second night, and the third.
It’s the kind of bliss you spend most of your life thinking only exists in fairytales. Until you find it for yourself only to discover you can’t keep it.
Then the bliss becomes torture.
And I wouldn’t give up a single second of it.
36
my very own batman helmet
Hannah
I clapthe phone receiver down and run my hands through my hair. One week out from the gala with a to-do list a mile long and my clients can’t seem to keep their noses clean for half a day.
Since I received the unofficial job offer from Mr. Whitley, I’ve been…distracted. Everything’s getting done, the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed, but my passion has shifted. Standing on the cusp of something that truly inspires me while having to show up for this other thing that sucks my soul dry and not having anybody to talk about it with is an exhausting place to be.
The only person who knows is Rowan, the biggest and best distraction of them all.
Barely more than one week left.
I’ve fallen asleep every night, tucked into his frame while his hands practiced over my skin. A little haven of space we’ve designed where I feel safe. And it’s worked. Maybe a little too well.
Touch by touch, he’s blazed a path over my body. Legs, back, stomach—exactly what I’ve asked of him. More than once, I’ve had the urge to coax his hand a little higher, a few inches lower, under the fabric instead of over. But the memory of my panic earlier this week has kept me from asking for it.
Yet, despite those fears, my body doesn’t always agree with my head.
Like when I wake up curled around his torso, aching for more. A burn that lingers all day, prickles of awareness skating over every inch hehasn’ttouched yet.
The sharp knock at my office door jolts me out of my thoughts, and I smile up at Olive. She drops a few files on my desk, departs, and I reorient myself into something more productive: my keynote speech.
I trudge my way through a first draft that I’m content to walk away from until Monday. The office clock counts down to five, but I’m already prepping to leave so I can get back to the lake as fast as possible.
My phone buzzes.
*Rowan has sent you a pin*
Rowan
Meet me here when you’re off.
Walk. Don’t drive.
The map opens and I zoom in. Thank God he can’t see my dumb smile through text.
Me
Three blocks in these heels? I expect a foot rub later.
Rowan