Page 80 of One Short Summer

A minute later, we stand in a pool of clothes, and I take her face in my hands, silently willing her to look at me.

There’s a softness in her eyes that makes my heart skip a beat, and I can’t help myself, pressing my lips against hers before speaking. “Let’s take this slow tonight, okay? I want to enjoy every single last moment with you.”

She blinks rapidly but nods as I push her back into the mattress, knowing this is going to be one of the best and most intense nights of my life, and that it’s going to be hell saying goodbye to her.

* * *

One thing is for sure.

Nothing has ever felt as natural as being with Monica. After hours of the most intense sex I’ve ever had, she’s cuddled in my arms, deeply asleep, while my body is still trying to calm down after our marathon session. Neither one of us could get enough, feasting on each other like the world was about to end.

More than once, I thought I saw a flicker in her eyes, a spark that was trying to tell me this means more to her too. But then, this is Monica we’re talking about. She’s the first person I’d expect to speak up if something’s on her mind.

Plus, this whole time, we’ve been pretty straightforward with what this is.

Leave it to me to not realize I already had feelings for her before we started this little thing. Being intimate with her brought those feelings to the surface and intensified them by about sixty trillion times.

Breathing in her scent as much as I can, I will my brain to memorize every single detail of the woman in my arms, no matter how small or trivial it seems.

As much as it will hurt, I don’t want to forget any of it.

I don’t ever want to forgether.

Chapter Thirty-One

Monica

Tryingto fit as much as possible into my one measly suitcase while packing up the rest of my stuff in boxes to leave with Gabe has been the highlight of my day, and not in a good way. I was planning on bringing my remaining things over to Charlie, but Gabe insisted I leave them here. According to him, it would make no sense to take them anywhere else, so he told me to stop being difficult.

Okay then.

Saving myself the work was good enough for me.

The biggest problem now is to decide what to take with me and what to leave. I used to be good at this, pretty minimalistic after being on the road for so long.

But this last year has clearly domesticated me in more than just one way.

Grabbing the smallest pieces of clothing around me, like my underwear, bras, and negligees, I stuff them all around the outsides of my other clothes, a trick I learned early on.

My fingers sift through the soft material of one of my nightgowns, making me think of sexy times with Gabe. Anything that could even remotely be seen—or turned into—something sensual makes me think of doing the horizontal tango with that man.

Totally normal thought process, right?

Pictures of last night flood my mind, the way he worshipped my body, touching me everywhere with his mouth and hands like he couldn’t get enough. The way our eyes locked when he was deep inside me. The way my whole world shattered with one mind-blowing orgasm after another.

The memories slowly turn into something else, something tainted. Mixed with fear and anxiety, no doubt stemming from everything Hannah and Charlie have said to me.

Most and foremost, Charlie’s last question.

Are you in love with him or not?

Am I?

I aimlessly grab for stuff, suddenly feeling restless, shoving everything and anything into the suitcase without paying much attention to it. When my fingers grasp something cold, my mind snaps back to the item in my hand.

It’s a framed picture from last year’s Christmas party at the Mitchells’ house. Rebecca took a picture of the “kids,” which included Charlie and me.

Despite the fact that we’re all wearing ugly Christmas sweaters—looking utterly ridiculous—it’s still one of my favorite pictures ever. Hudson and Gabe are laughing about some stupid joke Hudson made, their mouths wide open, their heads thrown back.

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