This is the second time in the past hour that I wish I could just throw myself to the wolves. It’s one thing craving any sort of a touch from an older man, and it’s another having to pay witness to another woman doing everything you wish you could do to him.
God help me…
My father thought it was a good idea to invite Saint over for dinner tonight. It’s a usual thing for us, seeing as there are two of us and Saint lives by himself. Unless my father has a shift at the hospital or Saint is training late, we have most dinners as a three. It’s become one of my favorite things. It’s what I live for because honestly at this point, I’ll take anything I can get. And if that means seeing Saint for a few extra hours every day, I’ll take it.
When I opened the front door tonight, my heart skipped a beat just like it always does. Saint’s such a beautiful man, so ruggedly handsome and masculine. The way his dimples deepen at every smile… it’s enough to have a woman come undone right there and then. Tonight, I was feeling a little risky and decided to put on a white halter-neck bodysuit and denim shorts. I say risky because I couldn’t wear a bra with the halter-neck without it ruining the whole look, so I didn’t. And although the shorts aren’t booty cut… if I were to bend over to pick something up, a little cheeky skin would show.
But I don’t care. It’s a warm Sacramento evening, I’m horny as hell, and quite frankly… I really want to see Saint’s reaction.
When I came down the stairs to the mouth-watering smell of lasagna that my father just took out of the oven, he almost had a heart attack at what I’m wearing. It took about zero point zero-one seconds for him to tell me to change, and while I knew it was a bit much, I told him it already took me long enough to choose this outfit. It’s a total lie seeing as I was thinking about this exact outfit the entire lunchtime at school.
To be honest, he didn’t have much to protest about when Saint step through the front door and revealed the Manhattan-Barbie behind him, who had close to nothing on. Seriously. A tight, short, pink minidress and a pair of silver strappy heels. That’s all.
My jaw almost dropped when I saw her, not because I was blind to the casual relationships and one-night stands Saint has, but because he’s always kept them so private and low-key, so it was odd seeing them in person, especially during one of our dinners.
Saint introduced Manhattan-Barbie as Mercedes Blaqwel. Mercedes is an international model from Manhattan and after being an angel on the Victoria’s Secret runway for several years, now has her own lingerie line. When she mentioned it when we sat at the dinner table about to eat, it was hard not to imagine the blonde bombshell with the gorgeous blue eyes and perfect figure in her own lacy lingerie rolling around the sheets with an achingly aroused Saint.
This undesirable jealously stayed in the pit of my stomach the entire dinner, intensifying after Mercedes mentioned she didn’t eat carbs, so Saint whipped up this epic vegetable stir-fry for her like he’s an Italian Gordon Ramsay and I’m the idiot sandwich… because I truly am.
I know I have no right to be jealous. Saint has his own life and I’m not a part of it, not sexually anyway—that I know. But it still hurts.
Hurts to pretend my feelings for him are at bay.
Hurts to pretend I’m completely fine because I need to be with my father here.
Hurts to pretend I didn’t wish it were me Saint was laughing with, not Mercedes, even if it was only a one or two-night thing between them. I mean, how could I even compare to her? Her name was a damn luxury car brand for starters—she’s already freaking won!
So now, as we settle into dessert—Lavender Crème Brûlée I made earlier on—I’m breaking through the top layer of hardened lavender and caramelized sugar harsher than I should at the sight of Mercedes dipping her spoon into Saint’s creamy portion while she laughs at some story my father just told.
I don’t get it. She skipped the pasta for carbs, but now she can have the dessert?
Ugh. I’m not even going to bother.
It’s a good thing Saint’s sitting directly opposite me at the dining table and is naturally where my eyes fall because my father would definitely catch on to how I haven’t been able to take my eyes off him all night if he wasn’t.
“That’s sensational that you’re a doctor!” Mercedes grins over at my father, stealing another bite of Saint’s dessert. I didn’t know she was coming, so I only made three. But that doesn’t seem like an issue for her as she turns to me and adds, “Great brûlée, Paisley. I personally would have turned it into a keto version, but to each their own, you know.”
I flash her my fakest-authentically-genuine smile. “Aww, thank you very much.” I turn to Saint. “If I knew Mercedes was coming, I would have made a fourth.”
There’s a glimmer of guilt in Saint’s eyes as he swallows down his own piece of the dessert. “Mercedes actually surprised me. I didn’t know she would be joining us either.”
“Yeah, I totally sprang it on him.” She giggles, turning to Saint with a wink. “But you can’t blame me, babe. I know how much you liked those new pieces I added to my new collection. So much so you ripped one.”
Oh my…
As I said before, just feed me to the wolves already because I totally don’t need to hear that Saint’s a rough and wild beast when it comes to sex. Not when it’s the sexiest thing I could ever hear as I squeeze my thighs together to ease my throbbing sex. Not that it does much.
My father starts laughing at just how uncomfortable his best friend looks. And while Saint also joins the laughter, it’s a nervous one. I see past the false façade as he gulps down. Rubbing the back of his neck, he soon glances toward Mercedes with a tight smile. “Did you really have to say that? At dinner?”
“What? It’s not like Alaric and Paisley seem to mind.”
“I know, but it’s a little TMI, don’t you think?”
“What is? That you like ripping my clothes off and cooking me stir-fry for a weekend only?” Mercedes smirks, cupping Saint’s stubbled jaw. “Admit it, you like it too.”
My father throws his head back in laughter. “God! Look at his face, Mercedes! I think you officially broke him!”
“I’m not broken, just shocked.” Saint chuckles softly, his eyes surprisingly meeting mine, and the smile on his lips drops, but his gaze doesn’t. It’s so hot and intense, darkening even as my father and Mercedes continue talking.
There are so many things I wish I could communicate with him, but it all comes to a crashing halt when butterflies flutter in my caged chest when Saint gestures to the Lavender Crème Brûlée and then back at me with a grin. He completely snaps out of the pit of gloom from before in seconds as he asks, “This is so beautiful, Pais. Do you follow your own recipe?”
Both my father and Mercedes end their conversation and turn to me.
“Uh, yes. It’s one that my nana used to make all the time. I’ve always cherished it.”
“Well, it’s perfect. She would be proud of you.”
Aww.
I offer him a small smile and hope it communicates how much his words touched me.
“It’s freaking heaven.” Dad nods. “My mother used to make them religiously once a week and Paisley always helped her out. Everything you touch turns to gold, sweetheart.”
Saint nods, and something lights up inside me. “All right. I have a story about crème brûlée, but I kind of need everybody at this table to sign an NDA before I share it.”
We all burst out in laughter, and I love the dimples that carve Saint’s cheeks.
I set down my spoon and lean back in the leather dining chair. “I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
“You have too much faith in me.” Saint chuckles.
I hold up two fingers as if I’m a Girl Scout. “Secret’s safe with me. I promise.”
My father nods. “You know I won’t say shit.”
“Me neither, babe,” Mercedes purrs, her hand trailing up Saint’s T-shirts, her bold pink nails softly running down his chest. His eyes never leave mine as she kisses his cheek, the hot red lipstick stain ruining me whole. “Promise I won’t tell.”
I swallow thickly.
Saint nods, clearing his throat, and glances between us all. “Okay, so one night two years ago I wanted to feel… Frenchie. So earlier on in the day, I bought the ingredients for a crème brûlée and my cousin, Enrico, was visiting for the weekend. It was pretty late, and Enrico was just flipping through the channels and landed on Magic Mike…”
I’m already laughing.
“I haven’t seen that shit,” my father says. “But I can’t wait to hear what happened.”
Mercedes gulps down her wine. “The first or second Magic Mike?”
“The second,” Saint confirms and continues, “Anyway, so Magic Mike’s on and I was like, change the damn channel. Enrico said and I quote, ‘Wait, let me see two seconds of this shit and see what I’m lacking.’ So, naturally I acted like a piece of shit and started groaning about it. In that moment, I got out the blowtorch and was using it to golden the top of the crème brûlée. I glanced up for two seconds and Matt Bomer was doing that scene where he sings that song, “Untitled (How Does It Feel)”, and then he strips down to barely anything while continuing singing like a fucking legend. Part of me was like, ‘all right, that’s actually pretty impressive’ and I just kept on watching. All of a sudden, Enrico turned around and said, ‘What’s that smell?’ I looked down and not only did I burn the desserts, but my hand was all red from the heat of the blowtorch. The motherfucker couldn’t stop laughing as he drove me to the ER and luckily it was only a first-degree burn, but the doctor wrapped it up and I had to make up some shit as to why it happened to not only him but everybody else. I think I told you, Alaric, that I hurt myself while training a client at my fitness studio.”
I bite my lip to prevent myself from bursting out into laughter once more.
Saint Lisconti watching Magic Mike XXL? Now that’s a sight…
“Oh shit, yes! YES! I remember that!” My father chuckles. “God, I remember thinking, he’s an ex-professional boxer and he hurt himself when training a client?”
“That was me creating total bullshit to keep my guilty pleasure under wraps.”
“Oh my God!” Mercedes speaks over everybody as she turns to Saint. “I love that film!” And then she starts talking about God knows what. All I know is that my father is listening to her every word like the curious host he is, while I… well, I just want to close my eyes without seeing that face… or hearing that high-pitched voice. I mean, it’s great to spark a conversation, but this girl doesn’t shut up. Seriously. Shouldn’t her mouth be dry by now?
I manage to catch, “A few friends and I were actually invited to the premiere of Magic Mike XXL and it was just wow. It was wow. Like I looked around and it was just like wow, wow, wow.” And that’s where I zone out.
Forget trying to impress Saint. Stabbing my eyes with a fork sounds good right about now.
“God help me.” I sigh under my breath and gulp down the rest of my water.
Great, just great. She even met Matt freaking Bomer.
Maybe I should change my name to Maserati. Actually no, Toyota is more accurate.
My eyes travel to Saint, who smiles at me, and I return the action as I set down my glass. Rolling my tongue across my lower lip to collect the stray drops of water, I lick it away and can’t help but smirk when I catch Saint steal a glance at my plump lips, his eyes darkening as his stare extends. Saint gulps down moments I catch him watching, and he pulls out his phone instead. Seconds later, my phone vibrates in my jean shorts pocket and my heart beats out of my chest at the sender.
Him.
SAINT: You okay?
I glance up at Saint through my lashes, but he’s still facing down toward his phone.
SAINT: If you look at me, it’s obvious I’m texting you…
PAISLEY: Promise I’m okay… I liked your little story there about Magic Mike. I watched the movie on Netflix one night when my father was working a shift… The second I saw Joe Manganiello going around that leather swing, I almost choked on my popcorn.
SAINT: Oh, you’ve got a thing for Italian men do you…?
I bite my lip, my sex heating even more.
PAISLEY: Just a little… 😉
SAINT: I’m glad we can relate over Magic Mike.
PAISLEY: Yeah, alpha men in silver G-strings are totally my kryptonite…
SAINT: But are they really?
PAISLEY: In movies? Yes. In real life? I don’t know, but for now I’ll say no thanks.
SAINT: Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Pais.
My heart speeds up as my mind wanders to places I know it shouldn’t with him.
SAINT: Hahaha, I’m kidding. Stay away from men. We’re fucked.
PAISLEY: Very encouraging… 😉
SAINT: Very… Anyway, maybe one day you can teach me how to properly make crème brûlée from scratch? I liked the lavender touch you added to it… very you.
PAISLEY: I’d love that. No Magic Mike this time? 😉
SAINT: Definitely not. I learned my lesson the first time… 😉
My gaze flickers to Mercedes for a moment, shocked to find her staring directly at me while she continuously talks to my father. I don’t miss the way her nose flares. I’m sure if she glanced over now, she’d see my name in Saint’s contact info, unless…I’m not saved as Paisley.
PAISLEY: What am I saved as on your phone?
SAINT: You’re saved as Paisley… Why? Are there any other names you’ve failed to tell me about?
I’ve never shut my phone fast enough as my father nudges my side. “Who are you texting?”
“Maralyn from work at the florist,” I lie. “She wants me to fill in a spot for her next week as she just booked an appointment that she can’t schedule on any other date.”
I hold my breath as my father nods. “All right but keep it short. You shouldn’t text at the table or in company.”
“Got it.”
He turns back to Mercedes as she tells him about her adventures of meeting a handful of Formula One racers that my father is obsessed with when traveling the world as a grid girl.
I unlock my phone and bite my lip as I walk the line of no return.
PAISLEY: No, no other names as of yet, but right now I’m thinking of changing it to Toyota. What do you think?
I hoped Saint would get some sort of kick out of it, but what I didn’t expect was for Saint to burst out in laughter. Huffing, Mercedes snaps her head his way. “What are you laughing at? I’m trying to tell your friend, Alaric, about the Formula One. Can you not interrupt me?”
Saint raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry. My nonna just sent me a text and she’s just so witty. I’ll only be a second.”
Mercedes and my father resume their chat.
SAINT: I think I just died and went to heaven with that comment. I can’t even look you in the eyes right now. I think I’ll just keep laughing. You’re such a smartass, Paisley Reign… 🙂 P.S I like the name Paisley better.
PAISLEY: You like it better than Toyota?
SAINT: I like it better than Toyota, Mercedes, fucking Audi… I like Paisley better than anything. It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful woman… like you.
Warmness fills my heart. Is he flirting with me?
Yeah, right. He definitely isn’t flirting with you, Paisley.
The devil on my shoulder taunts me, Then why does it feel like he is?
PAISLEY: Oh yeah?
SAINT: Mhmmm.
PAISLEY: My father tells me my mother chose it… I searched it up once and apparently Paisley is of Scottish origin and means ‘church or cemetery’ … Can you tell my mom hated me?
SAINT: Think of it this way, my name is Santo. It means Saint, but also ‘Holy’. Church and Holy… seems like you and I have more in common than at first glance.
PAISLEY: Whoa, that’s so interesting. Well… it seems like our sins will always be with us.
SAINT: Pfttt, speak for yourself, baby. I’m pure. So damn pure.
Baby.
PAISLEY: Hmmm, I’m sure you are… 😉
SAINT: Don’t doubt me, believe me 😉
I feel my cheeks heat as I glance up at him and at the exact time those ocean eyes land on mine. Saint casts a glance my father’s way and when the coast is clear, turns back to me and gives me a slow, sexy smirk. With an arched brow, he mouths, “Believe me.”
“I will,” I mouth back, a smirk almost growing on my lips, but it’s all cut short when Mercedes says my name, forcing everyone to glance my way as I shut my phone.
“Sorry, what did you say?” I ask.
“I said, have you started thinking about college? Your father tells me you’re into… flowers.” Her nose scrunches up. “Flowers give me hayfever. Plus, they steal all the oxygen and are honestly such a waste. You just end up throwing them away anyway or they simply die. I feel as though you can like flowers if you don’t really have much to do. I split my time between Europe, California, and New York during the year for work, so I’m definitely too busy to take care of flowers.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Saint clench his jaw.
Breathe, Paisley. Breathe.
Oh fuck it. What do I owe her? Nothing.
Grinding my teeth, I can’t bite my tongue quick enough as I say with a sly smile, “Well, it’s called balance.”
“Oh, sweetie, if you only knew how balanced my life is!” She laughs, mocking me. “I just think going to college for… flowers… is a waste. I was in Law School when I was scouted.”
“Well, I was actually accepted into The University of Washington for a bachelor of Landscape Architecture. Although I would have preferred to stay in California, Seattle will allow me to step out of my comfort zone and meet new people. Plus, there’s this epic award-winning architecture and interior design company, Notti Designs, with its headquarters there. It’s owned by Giulio Giannotti, and they just opened a new landscape architecture department exclusive to their Seattle office. It’s my dream to work there one day!”
Mercedes’s eyes slightly widen. “Wow. Big move.”
“Brave move.” My father nods, offering me a warm smile. “It’s going to be so strange not seeing your face around, but you made the right decision, Paisley. I truly believe Washington State is your calling and that you’ll have the best time there.”
“Even if that means somebody else stepping on your flowers.” Saint winks, causing my father and me to chuckle.
Mercedes looks around all confused. “Umm… I think I’m missing something.”
“It’s an inside joke,” Saint says, brushing her off as his gaze never leaves mine. “Alaric’s right, this is definitely going to be a brave, bold move, but if it’s anybody who can do it, it’s you, Paisley. You’re much stronger than you know. Seattle is going to show you that.”
“Thank you, Saint. I appreciate it.” My vision becomes all glassy. Nobody has ever said something as sweet as that to me before. Nobody has made me feel this emotional before. Only him.
Only Saint.
One of the hardest things come August will be not only saying goodbye to my father and Maralyn—my boss at the florist I work at—but saying goodbye to Saint. As much as I would have liked to attend a college based in Sacramento, I know deep down it would have been the easy option. Up until this point, my entire life has been a disaster. I think I just need a fresh start, one where nobody will know my name.
I need something new, something different, an opportunity to soak in all that life has to offer.
I need to move forward in my life, not get stuck in a rut like I am here. And as much as it breaks my heart that I’m not going to be close to my father, Maralyn, or Saint, I just need to do this for me.
Saint was actually the one to convince my dad this was a good thing for me because my dad was devastated I’ve chosen to spend my college years two states north. I’m surprised with how supportive Saint has been about Seattle these past months. He was right there with me when I filled out my application and even amazed both my father and me when he hired a private jet to send us to Washington State to check out The University of Washington, speak to an advisor and discover the city a little so I could get a feel for not only the college but also Seattle itself before my application deadline. While Saint didn’t attend the three-day trip with us, it felt as though a part of him was there with me. It was hard not to fall for a man like Saint when he’s so attentive and… beautiful.
Mercedes gives me the cattiest look; a glare submerging into the fakest grin I’ve ever seen. “You’ll love Seattle. They have really good hairdressers there, sweetie.”
My brows knit. Hairdressers? Why did she say that so… directly? And who does she think she’s calling sweetie?
“Hairdressers?”
“Yes. Maybe they can fix your hair up, sweetie. Humidity is a killer. I have a few friends in the industry. Maybe I can link you up and you’ll find a way to tame it.”
I’m fuming. Tame it? Seriously? I’ve never had an insecurity with my hair, but thank you so much, Manhattan-Barbie, now I do!
I turn to my father, who simply smiles at me, missing the entire point. He nods softly, hovering his wine glass over his lips. “Is that something you’re interested in, sweetheart?”
“Thank you for the offer, but my hair is okay.” I turn back to Mercedes and do my best to maintain a smile as I rake a hand through my dark waves. “I’d prefer not to ruin my hair with chemicals. Natural all the way!”
“Oh, just like me then!” She grins with her pearly whites and it’s so freaking annoying. My eyes not so subtly shift to her cleavage. Her perky, large breasts that are so obviously fake make my C-cups seem like babies. While there’s absolutely nothing wrong with women who decide to have breast augmentations, at least own it.
“Yeah, au naturel,” I say under my breath.
Mercedes cocks her head to the side with attitude. “Did you say something, sweetie?”
Bloods bursts up my veins.
“Look,” I snap. “Firstly, I’m not your sweetie—”
“Paisley…” my father warns.
She holds up a hand to halt him and says, “Oh, I’m sorry, what should I call you? The girl next door?”
“How about Paisley?”
She scoffs. Scoffs! “No, sweetie works fine with me.”
“Mercedes.” Saint rises from the table, clenching his jaw as he gestures to her. “A word, please.”
“Anything you want to say to me in private you can say to me right here.”
“Back off Paisley’s case.”
Time stops. Whoa.
My jaw drops because I certainly wasn’t expecting him to say that. While my father attempts to defuse the situation, Mercedes refuses to leave the table with Saint. There aren’t enough nerve endings inside me to calm down and I don’t trust myself to not say something I’ll probably regret tomorrow morning. So, with a fake smile, I stand up from the dining table, feeling my heart in my throat.
“Kindly excuse me. I just need to touch up.”
In reality I should just say, ‘I’m going to be busy doing hot girl shit’, but that will never pass. It hurts to feel Saint’s hot gaze on me, but I need to look away for my own sanity. I didn’t mean to get into a semi-cat-fight with his new flame, but it happened, and I have no right to tell him what to do. So, it’s better I remove myself for the situation to cool down, and that’s exactly what I do as I turn my back to them and begin walking out of the open-plan dining room.
“You sure you’re okay, Paisley?” my father asks from behind.
All I do is nod.
The second I’m in the downstairs bathroom, my fists wrap around the vanity, and I shut my eyes. Forget about her. She isn’t worth it.
Breathing out a deep breath, I shake my head. Who am I kidding? While it may not be the personality Saint went for with her, it’s definitely the beauty. She’s gorgeous, talented, much more than I could ever be.
I force this calmness to eventually work over me and relax not only my tense body but spiraling state of mind. When I hear the bathroom door click open, I half expect it to be my father, no matter how deeply I wish it were Saint. Yet when I open my eyes and perfectly styled blonde curls are all I see, I wish I had locked the damn door.
Mercedes mockingly laughs and rests her back against the door, pushing out her chest as she watches me. “Paisley… Paisley… Paisley.”
“What do you want, Mercedes?”
She cocks her head to the side, her eyes raking down my body as I turn around. Feeling self-conscious, I wrap my arms around my waist as she meets my eyes and says, “You really think you have a chance, don’t you?”
Holy shit.
I know exactly what she’s talking about but play dumb anyway. “Huh?”
“Saint. You really want to fuck the man, don’t you?”
My heart drops. Was I that obvious?
Shaking my head, my mouth dries up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“You’re a bad liar.” Mercedes smirks, striding to the vanity with that killer supermodel body of hers. Pulling out a gold packaged lipstick from the side of her bra, she leans forward toward the mirror and starts aligning her lips. Once she’s done, she rubs her Ruby Red lips together, slips her lipstick back inside her bra, and turns around to face me, blocking my view of the mirror as she towers a few inches taller than me in those heels.
It takes a while for my gaze to move from her mouth to her gorgeous light eyes. I can’t help but think of her lips on his. Of what happened before they came over. Of what exactly Saint was doing the moment he allegedly ripped her lingerie.
“Let’s cut out the bullshit,” Mercedes starts, narrowing her gaze. “I’m a woman. You’re a woman. We both have needs… desires. So, I know exactly what was crossing your mind throughout dinner. You couldn’t take your eyes off him at every opportunity your father wasn’t looking. You’re playing it smart, Paisley, probably don’t want your father to know your dark and dirty secret.”
“There’s nothing going on between Saint and me.”
“Oh, I know there isn’t. I know because I was moaning his name last night. And, just from woman to woman…” Her devilish eyes glance beyond me. “He’s. So. Fucking. Good.”
“That’s enough, Mercedes.” I jump at Saint’s hiss behind me because it shocks me to the core. “Leave Paisley alone.”
“Oh please, Saint. Can’t you see it? Can’t you see that—”
“I said that’s enough. An Uber’s waiting outside for you. Kindly leave.”
Mercedes’ jaw drops. “What?”
I spin around and catch Saint’s ocean eyes on me by the doorframe. Taking two strides inside, he settles by my side. “You okay?” he whispers, and it’s the gentlest and purest thing.
I nod, my heart rate through the roof.
Saint turns back to her. “Mercedes, please leave.”
She confidently stays in her place. “Why?”
“Because you’re disrespecting my friend and to be honest, you’re just not getting how much it’s hurting her.”
Friend.
“Seriously?” Mercedes screeches. “You’re defending her?”
“Yes. Any day of the goddamn week I’d defend Paisley.” Saint nods, gesturing toward the bathroom door. “Go. I don’t ever want to see you again, Mercedes. Ever.”
Mercedes gulps down, giving me the stink eye before glancing up at him through her fake lashes. “Well, if you change your mind—”
“I won’t,” Saint snaps, matter-of-fact. He’s fuming, his eyes so ice-cold as he stares her down. “I want nothing to do with you. Kindly leave Paisley’s house.”
Whoa.
With one last glare my way, Mercedes struts out the doors, swaying those hips with every step like this is some sort of runway. Saint and I continue staring at each other until there’s soft murmuring of goodbye between my father and Mercedes, and the front door slams shut.
Saint’s sexy, masculine cologne overpowers Mercedes’s Coco Chanel perfume that lingered only moments ago. It purifies me, integrating with my jasmine scent as he pulls me into a tight embrace, our arms tangling around each other, and the tension inside me eases.
I feel his heartbeat against mine and everything gets better. Every single thing.
“I love your hair, for the record,” Saint murmurs into my ear and the sweet words alone have me coming undone. My heart thumps wildly against his. “You sure you’re okay, Pais?”
“I am now.”
“I’m sorry about what transpired. I shouldn’t have brought Mercedes along.”
“This isn’t your fault. I could have possibly handled myself better. In fact, I’m sorry I acted like an idio—”
Saint cuts me off. “Don’t even think about it. You did nothing wrong.”
Cupping his stubbled jaw, I caress my thumb over his spikey hairs before rising on my toes and softly kissing his cheek. “Thank you for always having my back.”
“You know I always will, wildflower.”
I gulp down. “Why did you let Mercedes leave so quickly?”
“Because she isn’t who I want.”
“Why?”
Saint answers my question with another question. “Why do you think I brought Mercedes tonight?”
I shake my head, stumbled by the question. “I don’t know…” I admit honestly. “Convenience.”
“No, not convenience. She was a distraction, but it didn’t fucking help in the slightest bit because lately I… because lately I can’t stop…” Saint whispers as we pull away, his eyes sparkling in a heated passion. “Can’t stop thinking about you. No matter how badly I wish I could, I can’t stop, Paisley. It’s driving me fucking crazy.”
Oh my…
I can’t stop thinking about you.
No matter how badly I wish I could, I can’t stop, Paisley.
My expression softens and the warmest smile takes over. He feels something. He feels something too. Even if it’s a fraction of what I feel for him, it’s enough to have hope.
“I can’t stop thinking about you either, Saint,” I murmur. “I know I’ve already told you, but… nothing’s changed for me. Nothing at all. You mean everything to me.”
Saint parts his lips, and just as he’s about to speak, my father’s footsteps coming down the hall are all it takes for the echoing reminder of Saint’s words to fade away and for our invisible, forbidden line to divide us; swallowing us whole in ocean waves deeper than the Atlantic.
Because the second my father steps inside of the bathroom, I feel like I’m drowning in a world of reality meets temptation. A world so tangible, yet so out of reach. One so dark, yet vibrant with fields of holistic flowers. One I’m convinced just collided the second my father’s eyes meet mine and says, “What the hell, Paisley?”
