Page 82 of Hot Blooded
I hear a wave of girly laughter behind the door. Apparently Lena is enjoying herself, and it grounds me in the moment. One of us should be. Turning to face Reign again, I draw a deep, calming breath. “Do you love me?”
“More than anything.” His voice is sure, steady. “You’re the most precious thing in this world to me, Tressa.”
My breathing grows more rapid. Even if my brain is screaming at me to flee, my heart has grown attached to this man. And for better or worse, part of me needs to hear him out, to understand this messy situation I’ve found myself in. Maybe if I can make sense of it, then I can move on.
I lift my chin to gaze at Reign. I’ve never seen him look so devastated and broken. Dark circles line his eyes and he looks like he hasn’t fed in days. Part of me wants to share that with him… one more time. The pleasure. The connection. But I can’t. Not now. It would only make leaving that much harder.
“This is too much for me…” I admit. “I need some space. Some time.”
He releases a heavy exhale and I swear what looks like regret washes over his features.“I will give you all the time you need, sweet Tressa,” he whispers.
The nickname against his lips presses like a weight onto my chest. My heart feels heavy, thudding dully against my ribcage.
Another fit of Lena’s giggles greets us from behind the door.
“He’s probably trying to get in her pants, you know,” Reign says.
“I don’t think she’d mind much.”
Reign nods, looking tired and frustrated.
It’s then that I know. Reign and I have reached an impasse. He’s not going to give in to me. And as for me… It’s time to face my reality. Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?
Chapter 43
Tressa
Three Months Later
I have my own apartment, right near my sister’s campus. And I get to see her all the time. We might even live together next year.
I also have a new job. A new gym. A favorite pizza place—Rosie’s downtown, the place on the corner is crap. I figured out my fussy fuse box and hung my own curtains. I’m doing it. Life. Just like Reign pushed me to do.
In our last conversation at the hotel in Telluride, he urged me to go out into the world and spread my wings. He insisted that I needed to experience life, that I couldn’t make a decision this monumental at age twenty-four. He insisted that I’d want a husband, kids, all the normal things that society says we need to be happy. He was wrong of course, I only needed him.
But here I am. I work six days a week at a bookstore and then freelance for a dying newspaper writing columns on health trends and celebrities. I miss Reign. I miss Lena. But I’m trying.
And the biggest news?
I’ve begun dating.
It kind of happened on accident, really. After my first few lonely weeks here, my upstairs neighbor repeatedly asking me if I wanted to join him for dinner—I finally said yes, if only to have someone to interact with. Well, the first several times he asked, I said no. Then eventually I gave in. Connor is his name. He’s a few years older and has kind eyes. He works as an assistantat an engineering firm downtown. He moved here last year and doesn’t know many people yet because he works so much. He cooks really well, and he doesn’t ask too many prying questions about my past, which is how I found myself venturing up the stairs night after night to join him for a home-cooked meal. The lonely evenings pass quicker with some conversation.
Trying to be polite, I’d bring a bottle of wine, or a store-bought dessert from time to time. He never let me chip in for the food, but I felt like I was at least doing something kind in return. After two weeks of this same routine, Connor leaned in and kissed me. It completely shocked me. It felt like an utter betrayal to Reign. I was reeling with the emotional blowback of that when it occurred to me that Reign is no doubt off enjoying his own female company most likely… That thought is like a dagger through the heart.
We’ve had no contact, and yet thoughts of him still consume my brain on a daily basis.
“Penne or rigatoni?” Connor calls to me from the kitchen.
I finish flipping through the catalog on his coffee table and wander into the kitchen to join him. “What was the question?” I admit, sheepishly. The truth is, sometimes I’m not very good company.
“Penne or rigatoni?” he repeats.
I realize he’s talking about pasta when I see the jar of Pomodoro sauce on the counter. “Either is fine.”
Connor chuckles and tears open the bag of penne, saying something under his breath about how easy-going I am.
Later that night, I leave Connor’s apartment for my own, feeling more down than I have lately. He’s been pressuring me to stay the night, but I always remind him of my early work schedule, and he backs off.
