Page 35 of Glass Jawed
Three agonizing weeks since that damning kiss.
And he hasn’t kissed me like that again.
Sure, his lips still find mine—a peck here, a gentle nose graze there. Sweet. Tender. But never akisskiss. Not like that first one.
The kind that made my knees weak. The kind that short-circuited every functioning thought in my brain.
Not that I mind.
Because one more kiss likethatand I’ll be dropping my clothes at his feet. And I’m not ready for that yet.
Mentally? Emotionally? Physically? I don’t even know.
We’ve started seeing less of each other now that his guest lectures are over. No more automatic lunch dates between classes. But he still makes time.
He always shows up when I’m on shift at the café—his order ready before he even walks in.
Usually after texting me something soft and sickeningly sweet, like:
Lucian: Heading over. Don’t judge my pastry choices today.
Or
Lucian: Save me a corner seat, and one of those flirty smiles.
I hate how my stomach flips every time.
He’s trying. I see it. Ifeelit. And it’sworking.
We haven’t talked about that night again. Which is... fine. Maybe even preferable. Because I’m finally getting what I wanted: learning who he isnow, not who he was that night.
Not the man who broke me with his disgusted gaze. But the one trying, in his own stilted, careful way, to earn me.
Just two weeks ago, he took me back to his place for the first time. I was dreading it.
But it wasn’t the place from before—the one etched in my memory like a bruise.
He reassured me before I even stepped inside his car. Told me he moved. Put his old apartment on the rental market and now lives in a stunning two-bedroom penthouse.
And itisstunning.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire downtown. A massive kitchen with matte black countertops. And that bedroom?
God.
A king-sized bed with satiny cream sheets that probably cost more than my entire rent.
No, I definitely haven’t imagined myself sprawling on that bed. Not at all.
(Okay. Maybe once. Or twice. Or every night since.)
Which is exactly why I have to bring it up with my therapist today. If I ever want to jump his bones—bone—without spiraling into a tailspin of insecurities, I need to get my shit sorted.
Because the truth is?
I haven’t been naked with anyone since Tim.
That night changed everything for me. My body. My comfort. My entire sense of how I take up space in someone else’s gaze.Hisgaze.
