Page 188 of Our Scorching Summer

When Nico and I got back to our hotel from the Adonis Baths Waterfalls, we packed and drove to the airport.

We didn’t talk during our lengthy flight the way we had all summer. There were no jokes or games for us to indulge in. I slept as much as I could until we landed in New York, then Nico had to rush to board his connecting flight to California.

I was the one who’d insisted on this break to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life, but since my cab ride home from the airport, I’ve been drowning myself in greasy takeout and old rom-coms—except forNotting Hill.

More and more, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever work up the courage to follow in the footsteps of Julia Roberts’s character in my favorite movie and take a risk on love. No matter how unpredictable things may be for Nico and me.

I finally collapse onto my bed.

I scroll through some of my DMs until I notice Nico’s Instagram account is still logged into my phone, so I log out.

I trust him.

But I can’t help but go to his profile. It’s no longer the same grid of thirty photographs it was in June. Now, it’s filled with countless pictures ofus.

Me cuddled up with a monkey in Rio.

Us on the London Eye as Nico forced a happy face despite his trembling knees.

Me sprawled out on the beach in Cyprus.

Him holding my hand while I screeched throughScream.

The aching hole in my chest returns.

I miss his ridiculously bright smile.

His jokes.

His voice.

His nine-inch cock.?

I miss just being in the same room with him. I don’t think I was really able to conceptualize just how overwhelming the distance between us would feel.

I shuck off my boots and rip off my bra before tossing both into the corner of the room, where my unpacked suitcase is rotting away.

Ugh.

No time like the present.

In a few uneven steps, I plop onto the floor and unzip the suitcase. The smell of sunscreen wafts into my bedroom, pulling at every loose string in my chest.

The deep-red dress Nico bought for me to wear at the Wild Cherry sits on top of my things, the sheer fabric almost burning my fingertips.

There’s also the bundle of bathing suits that traveled with me from Rio to London to the Azores to Cyprus and came off so easily under Nico’s fingers.

Every single clothing item is a moment from my summer with him.

There’s no way I can do this right now.

I’ll start with my tote. That should be much easier.

I shuffle through the items at the bottom of my bag: a half-empty water bottle, a hairbrush, a lip balm, and some random snack wrappers from the airport.

And my leather-bound journal.

The wretched thing that contains the friends-with-benefits rules I was so terrible at abiding by during our entire trip.

---