Page 11 of Until We Kiss

I beeline for the sliding door and step out. I strip off and dry as fast as I can, glad for the fat palm fronds that act like a privacy screen around the sitting area. Glad there’s no one there to see the ugly-ass scars stretching down my leg. I wrap the towel around my hips, tucking my dick under the knot, tight to my abdomen where I can feel every twitch, and then toss my sweats over a chaise lounge.

I’ll deal with them tomorrow. Right now, I need this to be over.

I can’t do this to Carter. IknowI’m messed up in my head.

I find a blanket in the closet, and still half wet, I curl into the ballsack couch, not even checking if it folds out, the wrinkly cushions sucking me in.

I close my eyes, trying to ignore the constant twitch of my dick, still warm against my abdomen. Trying not to imagine him—over and over—water slicking down his back, that odd patch of hair at the top of his ass. How hard the tile would have felt as Ikneeled, a bolt of pain shooting up my thigh, butit would have been worth it.

No.

I need to stop thinking.

I need to follow through on the original plan. Find a guy. Suck my first dick. If I’m lucky, some dude’s cock edging down my throat will solveallof this. Organize my thoughts. Keep Carter in that lane where things are safe. Fix whatever’s going haywire in my brain.

I just need something to bring me back to myself. To make the world make sense.

I’m not sure how long it is before the shower turns off. The toilet flushes and the sink runs, then soft footsteps approach. The floor creaks next to me, but for once in his life—probably the first time ever—he’s silent. Then he turns and pads to the bed, the frame creaking as he crawls in.

My throat closes, my heart thunders. What will he do tomorrow?

Will he hate me? Will he sneer at me the way Jason did when I told him? Back in high school, that first time I thought thatmaybe,maybe there was someone I could see myself opening up to? But I learned pretty damn quickly that reality sucks sometimes.

I curl under the blanket, still shivering long after I’m warm, thinking thoughts that I don’t want to think. Things aren’t getting better in my head.

They’re getting worse.

I’ve never felt so alone.

3

I wake in a white cloud.My contacts are stuck on my eyeballs, everything filmed in mist. I groan and roll over, trapped in the blanket. My memory of last night is like a drunken haze where you wake and scroll through your texts, pissing yourself when you realize what you’d typed.

Except I wasn’t drinking. I did that shit all on my own.

And thethingsI dreamed. Jesus, I don’t want to admit them.

I stretch onto my side, my spine stiff from the ballsack couch, then I freeze.

There’s a to-go cup and a light blue pastry bag on the coffee table.

They sit auspiciously on the pale wooden surface, staring at me, next to a pile of brochures that Carter snagged from the villa’s office. I snake a hand out from the blanket and brush my fingertips along the cup.

It’s warm.

Carter.

My heart does this jumping thing. Like it plasters itself against my ribs before retreating in confusion.

I twist to see the bed. No Carter. Just a lump of unmade sheets, the fitted one torn off at the corner, and the pillows in a chaotic mound.

I unwrap the blanket and settle my feet on the floor, spreading my toes into the carpet, my knee stiff and morning wood stiffer. Jesus, I need a relea?—

“I’m sorry.”

Carter’s voice comes from my right, and I flinch.

He’s sitting in front of the sliding door, a matching to-go cup in his hand and wearing the board shorts he’d bought for this trip, his bare chest moving steadily with his breath.

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