Page 279 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

“If it’s something you’re passionate about, why wouldn’t I?”

It might have been in that moment that I see him differently. I see the handsome face and great body, know he could charm a gambler out of all of his money without wagering a bet, and has a sweet side that not many are privy too. But right then, I can feel in my bones that he’s going to be a part, even a major part, of my life for years to come . . . Maybe forever.

An overwhelming emotion surges through me, and I’m quick to say, “Thank you.” I shut the shower door and try to gain control of whatever this is I feel inside. It’s good, light, filled with joy, but a lot . . . too much to figure out when standing in a steamy bathroom with him naked.

So distracting to my goals.

He makes me want to climb into that shower with him and enjoy the pleasure of our bodies connecting for hours. I must resist.

The best way is to start getting ready for the day with my normal routine. Just a little out of order until I can take a shower. I brush my teeth and wash my face. Smother my face in moisturizer and then pin my hair up on top of my head.

When he moves into the bedroom, I hop in the shower. This time, he opens the door. “I need to go. I have a showing this morning and need to get dressed.” He leans in and kisses me. “Can I see you tonight?”

“I want that.”

“I’ll text you later, and we can make plans.”

“Sounds good. Have a great day.” He risks it all and leans in to kiss me again—deeper with intention—getting his face wet just to be there for me. He pulls back, licking his lips as if he’ll taste more of me that way.

That man is smashing down my barriers, and I don’t think I have a say in the matter. My heart is softening to this, whatever this is, and for the first time in my life, I kind of like it.

When he’s gone, and I step out of the shower, I dry off and then pull my clothes out and lay them on the bed. With Harrison still on my mind, I open a drawer and grab my birth control packet from the bin where I keep it. He’s distracting to more than my goals. I enjoy thinking about him and how nice it’s been the past few days.

I return to the bed to get dressed and then retrieve a glass of water to take my pill. Feeling good and ready to tackle the day, I pop a pill from the package. Being too rough, it goes flying across the counter until it bounces to a stop.

It’s while reaching for it that the silver foil packet catches my eyes. I’ve not thought about this in a few days. Sure, it’s a routine I’ve had for years, but something in my gut has me counting the remaining pills.

Thirteen . . . is that right?I take it like clockwork, so I know I’m good to go.

But am I right?

I come in here and pop the pill from the packet. The pills corresponding to the last few days have been popped. So that is correct. The only question is if I took them. Going crazy trying to figure out this mystery, I start ticking through the days to remind myself.

Thursday- I took the pill with a bottle of water prior to meeting Natalie at her house. That was the same day she told me she’s having a baby.

Friday- I took it before I went to the gym and ran into Elijah.

Saturday- I woke up and took it with a Diet Coke I had on my nightstand from the night before.

Sunday- I took the pill before brunch. . .Wait. Did I?

What happened on Sunday? Instead of days, I navigate through the events of that morning.

Harrison cooking breakfast.

The fight we had.

Running late for brunch.

Put the pill in the case in my bag to take when I got there—timing wise, that worked best.

I waited and had a mimosa . . . or a few.

Being stood up.

No, that can’t be right.

Staring down at the pill in my hand, I feel my stomach tense. My gaze rises, and I’m met with a ghost-white reflection. I run to check the bag I was carrying that day. Pulling the pink purse from the shelf, I open the clasp and unzip the pocket to find the tiny pill case.

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