Page 88 of A Win-Win Situation

It took every ounce of self-control to pull away from her, to resist the temptation that was consuming me. I would never, under any circumstances, take advantage of a drunk woman. She deserves more than that—more than a hazy memory, tainted by regret. I want our first time together to be a cherished moment, one that she can fully embrace and remember with clarity. I want her to be fully aware of every touch and every wordexchanged between us—if it ever happens. I want nothing less than a genuine connection; one that is built on mutual respect and, more importantly, consent.

Yesterday was not the day for us to cross that line. We both need a clear understanding of our feelings and intentions.

It was a difficult decision, but it was the right one.

The truth is, I think I might be feeling more toward her than I initially thought. In the beginning, it was only lust, a pure animalistic desire to consume her. I walked in on her doing yoga in the living room one evening and I almost lost my damn mind. Never in my life have I had to stop myself from throwing a woman over my shoulder.

Now, however, the desire is stronger, not only for her body but for everything she can give me. Anything she will allow me to have. I long for her laughter to fill the air, her touch to ignite a fire within me, and her understanding to soothe my restless soul. It's as though every cell in my body yearns for her, calling out, eagerly awaiting her response. It’s as if she holds the key to unlocking a part of myself I never knew existed.

A part I never thought I’d find.

Now, I have an inkling she might want something more. Even though she was drunk yesterday, she acted on some kind of instinct. If we talk about it today, maybe we can agree to giveusa real chance, away from all agreements and conditions.

I'm sittingat the end of the bed, my gaze fixed on her as she sleeps. I can see the exhaustion etched on her face. After she’d told me to leave, I couldn’t walk away from the door immediately. Instead, I stayed and listened to her cry herself to sleep while parts of me broke. I felt like shit, to say the least. Istill do. I should have intervened before things went too far. I should have known better, or at least used better words to tell her how I feel.

Her beauty captivates me—it takes my breath away. I can’t fully comprehend it; it’s as though a vital piece of me is missing when she’s not by my side, like the night sky without the light of the moon.

She’smymoon.My light.

My body aches to be with her—to savor every second of our time together. If I’m being honest with myself, it scares me. I’ve never felt something so powerful toward another human being until this woman came into my grey life with her colorful sundresses and fire. She holds so much of me in her hands, and I’m afraid she’ll drop me, shattering me into fragile, small pieces. That’s why we need to talk about what’s been simmering between us. There’s something there; I know it, and she knows it too.

As if sensing my internal struggle, her eyes flutter open.

"Good morning." The sound of her vulnerable voice breaks the silence.

I take a deep breath, my gaze locked with hers. "Good morning, Leora."

There's a brief pause that’s heavy with anticipation and unspoken words.

"How did you sleep?"

She shrugs, avoiding any eye contact.

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely, my voice filled with regret. "About yesterday, I shouldn’t?—"

Before I can finish my sentence, she cuts me off abruptly, her voice infused with self-blame.

"No, I'm sorry. I was drunk, and I shouldn't have thrown myself at you like that."

She begins to stand up, heading toward the bathroom as if trying to escape from the situation. I quickly follow her, not wanting her to run away from me. "Leora."

Her response is swift. "I'm sorry, Lucas. It won’t happen again. I crossed the line yesterday. Please, let's put what I did behind us and never speak of it again."

With that, she closes the bathroom door, leaving me standing there, feeling powerless. I understand why she feels the need to distance herself from me, to protect herself from potential hurt and complications.

Our playful interactions, the way we understood each other—it all seemed so natural. And now, I fear that we may never be able to return to that ease and comfort we once had. I never wanted to hurt her, and if she kissed me sober, I would have kissed her back with everything I had. I would have savored the moment of us two connecting for the first time without an audience.

The wall she’s beginning to build around herself feels impenetrable, and I can't help but feel a sense of helplessness in the face of its solidity.

THIRTY-TWO

LUCAS

The few days we’ve been back home have been excruciating. We barely interact like we used to—we barely interact at all.

If she doesn’t have any questions regarding work, she doesn’t speak to me. I’ve made breakfast every morning, but she’s never up for it, which only confirms my suspicions that she’s distancing herself from me because she adores breakfast.

Last Tuesday, I put on her favorite tv show—the one we’ve been watching together that always makes her run to the sofa, yelling at me to bring her a glass of wine—but nothing. Her bedroom door didn’t open.

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