Page 28 of Texting My Valentine

The poet in me cracks through to the surface as I grip his shoulders and pull myself close. The heat of our bodies collides and triggers another wave of hunger.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Alex. Nobody deserves to go through that. What happened to their kid?”

“He lives with me now,” Alex replies, his voice trembling. “I do my best, but it’s difficult. I work so often.”

“But you did the right thing despite the betrayal,” I say earnestly.

“I wasn’t going to take it out on the kid. He deserves a life.”

“You’re a good person.”

Oh, jeez. My voice shudders, and a sob threatens to take over. I’m thinking of my dad, his death, and the pain of growing up without a parent. Being close to him makes me want to spill it all out.

“Tori?” he whispers.

“It’s nothing.”

“You can tell me,” he says, his tone eager to hear me out. Eager to get to know me.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

How did we get to this serious place? Is that just who we are?

“I should go,” I tell him, afraid to let him in even more than I inadvertently already have. “It’s late.”

“Let me call you a cab?—”

“I’ll get an Uber. Don’t worry about it.”

I turn away, meaning to run down the beach, my blood rushing in my ears. The panic is all too real.

Is this what it’s been like for Mom all those times, the quick connection, her mind filling with impossible dreams? I won’t make the same mistake of throwing myself into it. I have to remember that bad endings are far more common than happy ones.

He catches my arm and turns me to face him. I gasp as he turns feral and pulls me close.

His lips press against mine with a passion I’ve never felt or imagined. He sinks his hands into my hips as though he’s been waiting his entire life for me, as though no one else could ever compare—like I’m genuinely as perfect as he claims.

He grips my ass, our bodies so close I can feel his solid length pressing against my belly. He feels huge and starving for us to take this further. Our mouths open, and our tongues clash with more desperation than I even understand.

I pull back, intent on running away. “I’m sorry. I have to g?—”

Before I can saygo, he growls and kisses me again. The sound he makes is so freaking tempting. It’s like he’s never been with amore beautiful woman than me. I didn’t know it was possible for me to feel this wanted.

Our kiss grows more urgent. He stumbles forward like he’s trying to take this to the sand. Part of me wants it, to fall, to let go, to open my legs and feel his solid thickness grind through my pants.

“Alex,” I snap. “I’m going.”

His eyes refocus. For a moment, I think he’s going to argue. For a moment, I want him to.

Then he lets me go, letting out a shaky breath. “I need to see you again,” he says, panting.

What heneedsto do is chill. So do I.

“Text me,” I snap, turning away, walking fast, almost sprinting, part of me wanting him to catch up.

At home, I find Mom passed out on the couch. Her cell phone is propped against a half-empty glass of wine, the screen open on Tinder. She was swiping until she fell asleep.

I step into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face.

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