There’s something to be said about spending time with an incredible man without sex in the equation. We talked and cuddled, kissed and flirted, whispered and laughed more that day than we have in the six months I’ve known him. I enjoyed it so much I stayed with him two nights in a row.
The third night is now upon me, and as I hop off the stage and end my shift, Trace meets me at the entrance of the restaurant.
Pressing a hand against my lower back, he turns to guide me toward the elevator that will take me to his penthouse.
I didn’t have a plan for tonight, but the need to see Cole digs my feet in.
“I’m going home.” I pivot to face him.
A black look shrouds his expression. “Bored with me already?”
He assured me he could handle the oscillation of this dating thing for as long as it takes. I also know he’s prepared himself for the inevitable nights I spend with Cole.
“I wasn’t sure how to tell you…” I peer up at him, feigning a grimace. “I’ve been bored with you for months.”
He chuckles, a gloriously dark and gravelly sound. Then he grabs my waist and lifts me to capture my mouth in a plundering kiss.
I fold my legs around his hips and feed him my moans, my desire, and my love. Our lips remain locked as he carries me down the empty corridor. We continue licking and nibbling as he blindly taps in the access code on the panel for my private dressing room.
The door opens, and I break the kiss, dropping my feet to the floor. Restless and dreading what comes next, I smooth my hands over the crisp lines of his suit.
“I had an amazing last couple of days with you. Because of you.” I straighten his yellow tie and step back. “Turns out, you were right. Assholes make my pulse race.”
“And your panties wet.” He pins me with a knowing look, the smug ass.
“I’ll see you here tomorrow.”
Two more days of work. Then I get a two-day break. I don’t know what I’ll do on my days off or who I’ll be doing it with, and I kind of like not knowing. There’s no expectations. Nothing to fret about.
I slip into the dressing room and close the door partway, leaving a foot-wide crack filled with stony blue eyes and a gorgeous scowl that I want to kiss right off his face.
Leaning in with his hands on the doorframe, he regards me for a weighted moment, licks his lips, and whispers, “I love you.”
“Love you more.”
“Impossible.” He straightens his spine then his suit jacket. His hands slip into his pockets, and he turns on his heel, vanishing around the corner.
I close the door and sag beneath the force of my feelings. The desperate urge to run after him and hug him with all my might is a powerful pull. But it would only make it harder to say goodbye.
It’s time to go home. I haven’t seen or spoken to Cole in two days. He started his new job tonight, and I want to hear about it.
And I miss him.
As much as I already miss Trace.
Fuck me, my life is a mess.
They gave me their hearts, willfully, recklessly. If I choose one, I break the other. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
I want to keep them both. But even if we were the last three people on Earth, that wouldn’t happen. Not with two men as possessive as Cole and Trace.
I take a shower and pull on jeans and an oversized sweater and coat. It’s after one in the morning when I drive home and park the Midget in my empty driveway. No motorcycle. Cole’s still at work?
Bracing against the cold, I race inside, through the back door, the dance room, the kitchen, and pause. I didn’t lock up.
Since Cole has his own keys, I retrace my steps to the back of the house. As I pass through the dance studio, the mirror on the far wall catches my eye. I swivel toward it, squinting at the pristine new glass, and press a hand against my tightening chest.
I broke that mirror three years ago in a drunken rage of grief. Then I left it, splintered and sad, as a reminder of what I look like when I give up.
And Cole replaced it.
Anger lances through me, spiking my pulse. But I shake it off. He didn’t know. He was just trying to be helpful.
Do I even need the reminder anymore? The night I dragged myself out of that dark place, I hoped I would look back someday and appreciate the distance I covered.
I started dancing again. And smiling. And living. And I fell in love. That’s a pretty good distance. A happy distance.
The near future won’t be easy, but I like to think I’m past the hardest obstacle of my life. Cole’s alive and breathing and able to share those dimples with those lucky enough to know him.
As if on cue, the purr of his motorcycle vibrates along the side of the house. It shuts off, and I rush toward the door, yanking it open and shivering against the chilly air.