Page 66 of Star-Crossed
Lyra blew her cheeks out, wishing she could process all of this in a cold, dark room somewhere for about a year.
Gemma had received an ADHD diagnosis earlier in life, and somehow, Lyra had become burdened with becoming everything Gemma could not.
Organized. Punctual. Detail-oriented. Successful.
But…what was successful, though?
Lyra got all the grades, checked all the extracurricular activity lists, graduated high school with an Associate’s degree, then university undergrad with an Ivy League law degree, and locked down a blue-blooded professional fiancé with very straight teeth.
What had she done through all of that but suffer? Suffer and steep in her illusion of superiority while Gemma had given herself permission to be…herself. To go after what she wanted, not what other people told her to want. To fall in love with the man who loved her back.
She’d chosen a life that would fit her diagnosis in it. With people who would make room for her and all the extra stuff she brought with her.
That just hadn’t been in Lyra’s list of options.
At least…not as they’d been presented to her.
New questions plagued her as she wound through the idyllic coastal town where she’d grown up. What did she do now? What did she want to do? Whom did she want to do it with?
She did her best to ignore the image that flashed into her mind.
Cy cooking her breakfast in his cozy, indescribably incredible home. Cy illuminated by a full moon reflecting off liquid pools of water displaced by their naked bodies. Risking life and limb—literally—to rescue a cat that wasn’t his own.
A confident, capable man who navigated his own loss through a balance of strength, will, and ingenuity.
The man who’d taken her apart and put her back together. First with his capacity for vulnerability. Then with his fucking unreal body.
She spent more time pretending not to want him than she should. Creating healthy distance, and then missing him like the cock-thirsty idiot he made of her.
Fuck!
Lyra almost rolled through a stop sign into a family of cycling tourists as she realized he was supposed to be at Star-Crossed today. The contractor and plumber had made enough headway with the foundation for him to strip the tree roots from the pipes and pull up the root ball in order to transplant the ash somewhere else.
She needed to stop allowing entire weeks to disappear in between their intense, and often incredibly physical, interactions. It wasn’t that she’dmeantfor a fortnight to pass between texts—it was that she’d informed Cy that she needed to put another dick or two in between Harrison’s and his before she got too attached.
And…well… Even though several dicks had presented themselves—whether in the form of an unsolicited pic from a dating app, or in person at a bar, club, or occasion—she hadn’t found one worthy of allowing anywhere close to her general person.
It just wasn’t fucking fair. Once you’d sampled a body of Cy’s caliber, it was almost impossible to go back to basic dick.
Myrtle had hit the nail on the head at last week’s Stitch ‘n Bitch when she brought in her handmade huckleberry ice cream. “Once you put this masterpiece in your mouth, everything that comes before or after is just soft serve.”
Lyra tried not to make parallels as she spotted the “Cy the Tree Guy” truck parked out in front of the shop with safety barriers blocking the sidewalk.
Pulling around the building, she slid into her reserved spot behind the shop, allowing a bitter laugh to escape her.
Soft serve.
If only that hadn’t been so apropos where other men were involved. If only she hadn’t thought about Cy’s taste every single day they’d been apart.
Which made sense now because…she was autistic. And once a person with ASD stumbled upon a texture, flavor, sound, scent, and sight they found appealing, they generally stuck with it.
For better or worse.
And Lyra would be goddamned if Cy Forrester didn’t check every single box as the best of all senses…
Rubbing her hands over her face, she flipped her sunglasses up to push back her hair and eyed the alley between Star-Crossed and the currently vacant building next door.
The autumn sun was as full as a ripe peach high above, dripping its juices across the horizon as Lyra gathered herself enough to step out of the car. The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled her nostrils, mingling with the rich earthiness of freshly turned soil.
