Page 20 of Terms + Conditions
We’ve been “dating” for the last six months, going public in January, a few weeks after the Christmas Ball incident. It happened sooner than either of us expected, but I don’t think it’s been as bad as we expected either. We haven’t seen much of each other because she’s been busy with school and I’ve been busy at work. I graduated from Chadwick in early May on a Friday afternoon and started work at QC Marketing the next Monday. She started at SCAD in January and has been taking extra classes so she can graduate early—within the next three years instead of four.
Classes ended two days ago, so this entire weekend has been dedicated to helping her move into her new townhome. The tan-colored stone home has black shutters, a black door with a worn gold metal doorknob, and a single step with worn black paint from years of entry. After living in on-campus housing for two quarters, she was ready to have her own space that wasn’t shared with other students. One where she could go to the bathroom with a respectable amount of privacy that just doesn’t come with living in the dorms.
When she brought up the idea of buying something, I was on board immediately. Not that my opinion really mattered, it was her money and her name going on the house. But I hated dealing with the living situation in the dorms the few times I had come down. In the comfort of her home, we’d be able to get a real break instead of being on guard twenty-four-seven. At least, that was my hope. Little did I know she’d be inviting two of her friends to live with her. It’s not that I don’t like Lola and Selena, I just thought we’d have a little more privacy, but the more I thought about it, the happier I was she wouldn’t be completely alone.
“Just put it by the shelves right here.” Elizabeth motions to the bookshelf outside of the closet. With a sigh, I do as I’m told, lifting the box of bricks and gently setting it in front of the shelves that sit between the closet and bathroom doors.
The bedrooms are smaller than what she’s used to, but for an older house (built in the late 1800s, she said), they were bigger than I thought they’d be. Her king-sized bed is pushed back into an alcove to the right of the door with a three-drawer nightstand on either side. Brass vintage swing-arm wall lamps hang above the nightstands. A storage ottoman sits at the foot of the bed filled with her blankets and sheets. Her desk is loaded with boxes of schoolbooks and desk supplies on the other side of a door that leads to a small deck overlooking the backyard.Another bookshelf sits next to her desk. A tall dresser stands across the room from the bed, and above it, I still need to mount her TV to the wall. The closet is nothing more than a large box, but somehow, she has (as of now) managed to put all of her stuff inside it. At least, what she’s brought with her. I know there’s still a lot left in her room at the Villa Estate.
The bathroom is twice the size of the closet, maybe triple. When you walk in, there’s a fireplace—yes, a fireplace—and a linen closet to the left, and to the right, a single vanity and a closed-in toilet room. Along the back wall, an updated marbled walk-in shower. The other bathroom that Selena and Lola will share is a smaller version of the same, sans the fireplace, and with a dual vanity.
Leaning against the doorframe of the closet, I can’t help but enjoy the view, following the curves of her body as my mind wanders down a dangerous path. Her shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of tanned skin. There’s a jagged red line on her side, and it reminds me why we’re here—two very different people forced together in what would normally be considered an unlikely relationship.
In the past few months, I’ve seen just how self-conscious she is about the scars she bears from that night almost four years ago. She rarely wears anything without sleeves, and she always checks to make sure her shirt is tucked in. If she does wear a shorter sleeve, she wears something to cover the scars on her arms. Only recently did she stop covering her scars around me all the time.
Elizabeth reaches for a pair of shoes on the very top shelf, but she can’t quite reach it, not even on her tiptoes. I take another minute to appreciate the curves of her body before stepping forward. My front flush against her back, my arm brushes against hers when I reach for the pair of purple heels she can’t reach. She turns in my arms, gazing up at me with her chest nowflush against mine. A deep inhale fills my senses with a warm floral mixture; it’s intoxicating. My hand grips the shelf, leaning down just a little closer, and when I do, her eyes move from my eyes to my lips and back.
“W-was there something else?” she stammers.
I smirk, enjoying how flustered this makes her. “Only thing left in the truck is your couch, armchairs, and desk for downstairs.”
“W-what are you d-doing there, then?” Elizabeth tries to hide the continued stammer in her words, but nothing can hide the rapid beating of her heart against her chest. I can feel it hammering between us like it’s trying to break free from its cage.
I bring down the shoes and hand them to her before leaving, heading down to the truck to wait for her to catch her breath before we move the rest of the furniture inside. Truth be told, I could use a minute for myself.
Over the past six months, Elizabeth and I have spent a lot of time together, getting to know each other better. And we’ve had a few close calls—losing ourselves in the moment. The line between what is real and what is a result of acting certain ways because of that damn contract have become blurred.
When I arrived in Savannah on Friday morning, she wasted no time running into my arms the moment she saw me on the street. The force knocked me back a few steps as she clutched onto me, her arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, legs around my waist, and her face buried in my neck. I kissed her temple and carried her back to the dorm entrance where her friends stood.
“Thank God. Now we won’t have to listen to her complain about when you’re going to get here,” Georgie said with an eye roll.
“Don’t listen to her,” Selena said. “She’s just upset because Aaron hasn’t called her back.”
Georgie shot her a death glare and Selena returned it with her own sweet smile.
“I missed you too, Sugar,” I whispered against Elizabeth’s hair.
When she pulled back, her gaze moved from my eyes to my lips and back. That pull was back, drawing us closer together, but the thought of this being the first time we kissed didn’t sit right with me.
I cleared my throat and slowly lowered her from my arms. She looked confused and dare I say a little hurt as I set her on her own two feet. “C’mon Sug, let’s get you packed up,” I said and kissed her forehead before taking her hand and going inside to finish cleaning out her dorm.
That moment has been replaying in my mind since. I wondered what her reaction would have been if wehadkissed. If we had crossed that line for the first time. It didn’t feel right letting the first time we had a real connection be in front of her friends like that. But now, I’m wondering if I made the wrong choice. Maybe I should’ve let it happen, said fuck it, and kissed her right there on the sidewalk in front of the whole world.
Finishing off my water bottle, I crumple the plastic and toss it through the open window of the front passenger seat. This is going to be a long fucking day.
“When do the girls get back?” I ask, lugging the final grocery bags into the kitchen. The previous owner had painted the kitchen a neutral green color that I would have never pickedseeing it on one of those sample cards in the hardware store, but it actually kind of works. The color is almost a lighter olive green, and it looks great against the white marble countertops, white subway tile backsplash, and red tile floor.
“Tomorrow,” Elizabeth says, putting the yogurts in the fridge. She will never admit it, but I can tell she’s getting nervous. I’m supposed to leave shortly because I have to work in the morning, but I’m starting to think I need to spend the night. The first night in a brand-new place is always kind of nerve-wracking, especially alone. I can live on a few less hours of sleep if it means she feels better on her first night here.
“You’ll be okay by yourself?”
“I’m not a child, Josh,” she snaps before mumbling to herself. “I can spend a night by myself.”
She begins arranging the fruit in the bowl on the counter next to the sink.
Taking her hand, I remove the banana and set it in the bowl. This close, she’s practically cornered in the “L” of the peninsula island. “I can stay tonight if it will make you feel better,” I say.
Elizabeth shakes her head but her eyes are glued to the countertop. I bend down to try and meet her stare.
