Page 118 of Love Arranged
She eventually lands on an old rerun ofThe Silver Vixens, and I don’t protest despite finding the outdated laugh track annoying. Eventually I stop noticing it because I’m paying more attention to Lily’s laughs instead.
I could get used to this, I admit to myself.
After ten minutes, my eyelids start to drag, and next thing I know, I’m falling asleep without a single worry on my mind—a welcomed rarity.
And Lily is clearly the reason why.
28
LORENZO
Iwake up the next morning groggy and aroused, all thanks to Lily, who at some point during the night threw herself on top of me like a weighted blanket. Her thigh is draped over my erection, while her head is tucked underneath my chin, rising and falling with my shallow breaths.
I’m afraid to wake her up by moving, but I’m equally fearful of staying in bed because what happens once she finds herself wrapped around me like this?
You need to go. I will myself to get up, but there is something comforting about Lily’s embrace. Multiple somethings, like the weight of her body. The familiar smell of her lotion sticking to my skin. The sweet little murmurs she makes in her sleep, the phrases incoherent.
I should categorize my curious reaction as just that.Curiosity. But I know that it’s much deeper than that, and I allow myself to explore it for a few blissful moments.
She makes me feel trusted, although she has every reason not to. Protective, because she looks so damn innocent cradled in my arms. And the most toxic feeling of all, so damnpossessivethat I want to be the only one she ever wakes up beside again.
Whoa. No.
Feeling possessive of Lily might feelright, but that doesn’t change how it is allwrongfor our situation.
We have a deal, and it’s up to me to uphold it for the sake of my campaign and my sanity because once the obsessive thoughts start, the compulsions follow soon after, and an unhealthy cycle is born.
It physically pains me to leave our hotel room in search of the gym, but I need some distance. Except in the middle of my run, an image of Lily wandering around Chicago by herself flashes in front of my eyes.
In a rush, I’m hopping off the treadmill and heading to our room.
I need to confirm she didn’t run off or something, I say while tapping the elevator button.
You wouldn’t want her to get lost or hurt or worse, the voice replies, and my stomach sinks.
What’s worse than getting hurt?
And now I’m thinking of apocalyptic-level scenarios, and I blame all Lily’s true crime podcasts for the vivid imagination.
Maybe I need to buy a tracking bracelet or something so I can checkon her from afar.
Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll order one as soon as I get back to the room.
The voice in my head is suddenly silent, and instead of being relieved, I only feel dread, knowing it got exactly what it wanted—a new compulsion to add to its growing collection, and one that will evolve the longer I’m in Lily’s company.
That much I can guarantee.
Good news: Lily is still in our hotel room. The bad? She is sitting on the couch, weeping into her hands, her body shaking from the intensity of her sobs.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, horrified by the tears running down her face.
She bristles before shaking her head. “Nothing.”
I grab a tissue and pass it to her, hoping it helps me feel less useless.
It doesn’t.
She doesn’t look up from her hands to see it, so I pull them down and wipe at the corners of her eyes, where her mascara started running. “Tell me what’s going on.”
