I went out like a light last night. Exhausted, spent, satisfied, confused, and everything else good and bad in between.
That’s the thing about giving in to your most hidden desires, kissing your former (or maybe still current?) physical therapist, and damning the consequences—you end up with messy thoughts.
And a pronounced ache between your legs.
As I stir awake the following morning, slowly and a bit disoriented, the first thought to hit me is the fact that not only did I sleep next to James last night… I slept with him.
No, not slept—we fucked. Good. Hard.
And—yep. I’m wearing his clothes. An old shirt and a pair of sweatpants he gave me last night.
I wait for the mortification to overwhelm me, then wait some more, but it never comes. It’s a weird sensation, not feeling guilty about going with my heart and following my body’s instincts, but I welcome it nonetheless.
How could anyone regret ending up between James’s sheets, anyway? It’s clear he knows how to use his body, knows how to work mine, and together we simply…exploded. I’d never had that kind of rough sex before, so I can’t say I was well-versed in the act of sexual pleasure, but it turns out I’m a quick learner.
The second his tongue was inside me, I lost my mind. I’d wondered for so long how it would feel for a man to devour me as if I were his last meal, and I swear I can still feel the delicious friction of his stubble on the inside of my thighs.
I can’t explain what it felt like to sleep with James last night. All I can say is that it felt right, as if a galaxy that was meant to explode was finally torn to pieces.
As I stretch my arms and legs on his king-sized mattress, though, I know he won’t feel the same.
Because the bed is empty, and James is nowhere to be found.
Here we go.
I knew this was bound to happen the second he told me he was too old for me last night. But I call bullshit.
Sure, our age gap is something I don’t want to ignore, but it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.
I’m not scared of standing up for myself and getting what I want, of not letting anybody else control me. Sammy and Grace made sure I knew I had the right to freedom, boundaries, and independence since I was a young girl, and I’m not going to forget that now. Not for any man.
Plus, I told him to let go just for one night. He did what I told him to do.
But it’s the morning now, which means last night won’t repeat itself ever again, age difference or not.
It takes me a minute, but I finally hear something—a shower. Remembering his attached bathroom where I cleaned myself up just a few hours ago, I sit on the mattress, my feet barely reaching the floor from how high the bed is.
The closed door only a few feet away calls for me. Tempts me.
It would be stupid to try…
Try what, exactly?
To get into the shower with him? What if he kicks me out? What if, unlike me, he regrets last night?
The truth is that I wanted him last night while the moon was high, and today, while the sun shines behind the clouds, I still yearn for him.
Maybe I will regret this in about ten seconds. Maybe I’m tempting my luck too much. But they always leave in the end, so who cares if I speed up the process?
I hold my head high as I walk toward the closed door then wrap my hand around the handle. Come on, Maddie. It’s not like he’ll kick you out.
It’s unlocked.
James stands completely naked and wet in the shower. I don’t know why this is shocking to me since, well, it’s a damn shower. What was I expecting?
Not those firm, bulking muscles, for one. The darkness and my touch last night didn’t do his body any justice, and when I saw him shirtless that one morning, I didn’t give myself enough time to appreciate it so openly. He looks like he was carved out by a sculptor, following my exact commands. Because, for the lack of better words, James is a dream. His body is the obvious whole package, but it’s what I found inside that makes me want to keep him forever.
And that’s a thought I should let go of right now.
He’s reliable, loyal, with a dry sense of humor that matches my own, and with a soul so battered yet full of life I could exchange it with mine and not feel any difference.
But even though I’m not meant to end up with him, I’ll be selfish and take what I want. Just this once.
As I open the door all the way, James turns around, his eyes finding mine through the shower door. They’re not wild or surprised, but they hold a challenge in them. One I’m only too happy to accept.
Without taking my eyes off him, I close the door and lean against it, allowing the hot steam to cling to my body.
He’s a sight to behold. The steam in the room doesn’t prevent me from seeing how the water runs down his toned chest, down his navel, and past his legs. And when he takes his shower gel and starts rubbing it all over his muscles, I die a little inside.
I don’t know what I was thinking when I thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with me this morning, that he’d regret sleeping with me at all.
Clearly, I read him all wrong.
Without taking those ocean eyes away from me, he fists his cock and starts pumping it up and down, slowly, applying shampoo all over his generous inches.
I’m not ready for the sight of James jerking off in front of me—jerking off to me—but I don’t back down.
Holding his stare, I strip down from the baggy shirt and sweats he gave me last night. The tension between us crackles, an ember about to turn into a wildfire.
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t stop me as I open the shower door and step under the waterfall with him. I get closer until his engorged head comes in contact with the soft skin on my stomach.
“Came to play?” His voice sounds as strained as it did last night, and it adds to the tingles between my legs.
My answer is to get on my knees.
His breath hisses, and he shuts his eyes. “Fuck.”
I don’t take my eyes away from his face, silently begging for a taste. Water droplets run down my now wet hair, clinging to my skin as he continues pumping his cock right in front of my face, the warm water getting all the soap off his skin.
It’s the memory of last night, of him stretching me wide, drawing out all the pleasure I didn’t know I could feel, that makes me desperate for more.
“Please,” I beg, my voice barely above a whisper.
He cradles my wet cheek with his other hand, rubbing his thumb on my parted lips. I suck it into my mouth. “You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” he rasps.
I nod, just barely, and he takes his thumb out of my mouth. But his hand doesn’t travel too far—it grabs a handful of my hair, securing my head into place. His possessiveness lights a fire inside me.
“I need it in my mouth,” I whimper, the desperation between my legs climbing up my throat as I part my lips.
He tugs at my hair, his eyes darkening. “You’re gonna let me come down your throat?”
My walls clamp in anticipation. “Yes.”
He grunts. “That’s my girl.”
Still fisting his cock, he rubs the tip on my lips, teasing. But two can play that game.
My tongue finds his wet head, and I give it a tentative lick. He shuts his eyes and groans, only for a moment, before that animalistic gaze is back on my mouth, watching my every move.
Confidence builds up inside me as I gather all his small reactions to my touch. Taking a deep breath, I wrap my mouth around his cock and swirl my tongue around the head. His grip on my hair tightens, and I take him deeper down my throat.
He’s so big that I have to stretch my mouth wider to accommodate his length, but I take every inch eagerly. He tastes salty and slightly like soap, and it’s his groans and his loss of control that drive me over the edge.
“Shit,” he hisses, pulling me deeper until my lips graze the short hairs at his base. “You suck my cock so fucking well. I knew you would.”
I pull back, breathless, but I can’t stay away. I swallow him down again, and again, until I pick up a rhythm we both are comfortable with. I’ve never felt this urgent desire to have a man in my mouth, like the mere thought of his cock not stretching my throat pains me.
“That’s it. Suck it hard.”
I bob my head up and down his shaft, gagging on it, saliva spilling down my chin. At one point, both of his hands land on my hair, and he uses his grip to fuck himself on my mouth. It’s so hot I want to tear up.
I don’t want him to stop. I need to swallow every last drop of his release, just like another part of me did last night.
Almost like he’s reading my mind, he says, voice strained, “I’m gonna come, baby. Last chance to pull out.”
I shake my head as firmly as I can, and he curses under his breath.
Somehow I manage to take him deeper, the head of his cock hitting the very back of my throat, and he comes undone.
He pulses into my mouth, filling my throat. He tastes salty with just the tiniest hint of bitterness, and I immediately know I don’t want this to be the last time I taste him. But it will be.
“Come here.” His command is rough, but his hands are gentle as he lifts me up and wraps my legs around his torso.
We’re pressed against the shower wall as our eager tongues meet again. His fingers find my soaked entrance, bringing me to yet another orgasm in record time. Who knew sucking him off would almost tip me over the edge?
He sets me down on the tiled floor, and I grab on to his arms for support. One of his hands finds my hip as the other pours shampoo over my hair. Through it all, James is silent, stoic even, and I don’t know what to make of this sudden change.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, barely hearing my own voice above the water sounds.
“Washing your hair.”
Duh. “But why?”
It should be a question easy enough to answer, yet he takes his sweet time brewing a response.
“Because I want to take care of you.”
Oh.
Well, shit.
His fingers massage my scalp as he continues to wash my hair, and I close my eyes and allow myself to just…feel.
For all the roughness of his body punishing mine, he can be a big softie.
He wants to take care of me, and I realize now that I want, more than anything, him to take care of me too. Just as much as I want to take care of him.
Tilting my head back with the utmost care, he rinses the shampoo from my hair and moves on to my body. He massages every inch of my skin, his big hands coated in vanilla-scented soap. He’s so clinical about it, it’s difficult to reconcile this man with the one who was fucking himself in my mouth just a few moments ago.
He places me under the waterfall of his shower, getting rid of all the soap. And then he kisses my forehead, the tip of my nose, my lips. The kisses are short, gentle, and it makes all the butterflies in my stomach take flight once again.
“Maddie, I—”
He doesn’t get to finish that sentence.
The sound of my phone ringing pierces the silence of the apartment. “Sorry,” I mumble apologetically, stepping past him to get out of the shower.
I wrap my soaking hair in a towel and my body in a much bigger one, and I go on the quest of finding my phone. When I spot it on the living room floor, it still hasn’t stopped ringing. A second later, I understand why they’re so persistent.
One look at the caller ID is enough to make my stomach flip.
“Yes?” I answer, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as unsure as I feel.
“Maddie?” Grace answers, which only confuses me more since she’s calling from my brother’s phone.
Suddenly, all the confusion is replaced by panic. “Is Sammy okay? Why are you calling me from his phone?”
There’s some background noise on her call, but it’s too faint to make it out. “We’re all right.” She’s the one who sounds confused now. “I’m only calling you because he’s driving. We’re roughly an hour away.”
“Maddsy!” I hear my niece’s excited voice in the background, and it hits me.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
“Right, yes.” No, no, no. I totally forgot. How could I? “Hi, Lila. I’ll see you guys soon. I just woke up and have to get ready,” I lie, because the alternative would be my brother having a panic attack behind the wheel.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll text you when we get to Norcastle, okay?” Grace says.
“Yes, yes, okay. Bye, guys! See you later.” I think I sound way more excited than shocked, which is a small blessing.
I hang up just as James exits his bedroom, water still clinging to his bare chest, and wearing nothing but a white towel around his hips. He’s looking like a real wet dream—too bad I’m going through a very real nightmare right now.
“My family is visiting today, and I forgot,” I blurt out, what I’m sure is a panicked look plastered all over my face.
He blinks then laughs. He laughs at me.
“What’s funny?” I scowl, taking just a moment to pet Mist, who has just woken up from his nap on the couch. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“Mmm.” He tries to be serious, but his twitching lips give him away. Whatever. I can’t even be mad at him—I like seeing him happy way too much. “It’s funny that you forgot about your family coming to see you. That seems like an important thing you’d mark on your calendar.”
I groan. “I’m so sorry I have to leave in such a rush, but they’re only an hour away and I need to get ready.”
“Let me drive you home,” he offers, sobering up a little.
Absolutely not. What if I accept his ride and my brother sees me exiting James’s car? I would rather die.
Not because I’m ashamed of being seen in public with him, but come on—who wants their older, protective, super fatherly brother to know they have spent the night with a man? Not me, thanks.
“It’s fine. I’ll just call an Uber.”
I walk past him and grab my clothes, scattered all around his apartment—oops—and get dressed in record time. I can tell he wants to object, so once I’m presentable again, I get on my tiptoes and kiss his stubbled cheek. “Thanks for last night. And this morning.” Thanks for the sex? Really? “I… I had fun.”
His gentle smile eases me. “I had fun too.”
“Have a good weekend,” I add with a smile.
“You too.” His hand finds my cheek and settles there, holding my face like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. “And I promise to call you later.”
I give him a look.
“I mean it this time.”
“Aren’t you scared anymore?”
His throat bobs with a heavy swallow, and I find mine is clogged too.
“I’ve never been more scared in my life, Maddie.”
✽✽✽
“And then, and then,” Lila says with her mouth full of hamburger meat. My brother scolds her for it, but she doesn’t listen. The excitement is too real with this kid. “And then she pushed the cat down the stairs!”
She’s talking about our cousin Hanna, who is four and has just discovered the power of chaos. I bet Aaron and Emily are pumped about it.
“Oh, yeah?” I heard this story before when I talked to my uncle on the phone last week, but I still listen attentively. “What about school? How’s that going?”
My brother rolls his eyes. “Don’t start with that,” he says before taking a bite of his own burger.
I frown, confused, but Grace is quick to add, “Nothing bad happened. She just doesn’t want to do her homework.”
“Homework is so boring, Maddsy,” she pouts.
“Maddie did her homework when she was your age,” Sammy quips, giving me that look. We both know I wasn’t a fan of the textbooks, even if I was a good student, but since Lila looks up to me so much, he wants her to believe I was some kind of extremely devoted student. It’s adorable.
“I did,” I say, nodding to Lila. “But it’s okay if you don’t find it fun.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “It’s not supposed to be.”
She giggles and pulls at my brother’s sleeve to get his attention. “See, Daddy? She agrees with me.”
“You two are the reason for my gray hairs. I hope you’re proud.” He shakes his head, but there’s no hiding his smile.
“Well, I happen to like your gray hairs very much.” Grace leans in to peck his lips, and the look in my brother’s face is one I will never grow tired of—infinite love, raw adoration, and pure devotion. It’s everything I grew up around, everything I miss every day that I’m away from home.
Lila makes a gagging sound, complaining about how gross her parents are, and we all laugh at her antics. A warm feeling settles in my chest, and I don’t think I’ve ever missed them so much while having them right here. The best part of all is nobody brings up my ankle, my upcoming job interview, or Pete. We’ve talked about it on the phone, and I appreciate the mental break.
My niece doesn’t have school next week, so they’re staying the night at a hotel in Norcastle—Lila is staying with me at my studio so we can have a sleepover like we used to do when I was still living at home. Which means that, from lunchtime until dinnertime, she keeps asking when it’s sleepover time.
I love her so much.
Since the day is warm and there’s not a single cloud in the sky, we decide to take a walk by the riverside. As my brother and niece chat about who-knows-what a few feet in front of us, hand in hand, Grace loops her arm around mine.
She’s shorter than me, which I found funny when I was sixteen and left her behind in height. Her blond hair is pulled in a low ponytail, her eyes sparkling with that hint of “I know exactly what you did” that amazes and scares me all at once.
“So,” she starts, the beginning of a dangerous smile forming on her lips. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about something you told me a few weeks ago.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
If the amusement in her voice is anything to go by, I’m in trouble. “Don’t play dumb with me.”
Yeah, no, I actually think I want to do just that.
My sister-in-law sees through everything and everyone. Call it instinct, call it logic, but she always picks up on everyone’s mood shifts and hidden worries. My brother and I joke that she has some psychic abilities she keeps from us, but sometimes it feels scarily accurate.
“I don’t recall,” I lie.
My brother isn’t too far away, so she leans in conspiratorially. “I know you do, but let me refresh your mind. Dating app? Some guy you knew?”
Okay. We’re doing this.
“If you tell Sammy, I’ll literally die on the spot,” I warn her. She laughs, but also knows me well enough to be aware that I’m not entirely kidding.
“I’m a closed book, you know that. I promise I won’t tell him. Now please, let me in on the gossip. I’ve been dying to hear it for weeks.”
If I give in so easily it’s because one, she’s persistent, and two, Grace is a weird mix between a mother and an older sister, who I’ve never been able to keep anything from. Going to Grace with my problems—especially my boy problems—is like second nature to me.
She’s never judged me, yelled at me, or reprimanded me for anything, and instead worked with me to find a solution while telling me why what I did was wrong or dangerous. Where my brother is more prone to overprotective outbursts, Grace is the calm after the storm.
So that’s why I know I can tell her. “He’s older than me. Like, much older.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “How much older are we talking about?”
“He’s thirty-one.”
She lets out a relieved breath. “Phew. I was afraid you’d say forty or something.”
I make a face. “Someone Sammy’s age? Ew.”
She squeezes my arm. “Well, you know your brother is eight years older than me, so I see nothing wrong with age differences as long as they’re reasonable and everyone is an adult—which you are. But tell me more. How did you meet him?”
Yeah, we’re not going there. Not yet. “I’d rather skip that part,” I tell her honestly. “It’s nothing sketchy or dangerous, I promise.”
“All right. I trust you.” And this, this is why she’s my favorite person ever. Why I’ve wished, on more than one occasion, that my mother had been like her. “Tell me about him. Does he treat you well?”
“He does.” I tell her about how he picks me up after my shifts, how he cooks for me, how he always asks me about my feelings and validates them. “We went through a similar experience, he and I. I think that’s why we connect so much.”
“What kind of experience?”
“He got injured right before the NFL draft.”
Grace winces. “That must have been hard on him. I hope he’s doing better now.”
“He is.” At least, I hope so. “I guess what I’m worried about is our age difference.”
“Age differences can be tricky,” she says thoughtfully.
She should know, since she was twenty-two when she met my brother, who was thirty. But she was finishing college then, had a stable job and plans that aligned with my brother’s. I’m not that lucky.
“Is this a serious relationship?” she asks.
“We’re just fooling around for now.”
It’s no secret to Grace that I’m not a virgin. She was the one to give me the talk, saving my brother from having an aneurysm. He’s not dumb enough to think I haven’t even been kissed—he just doesn’t want to hear about it. And to be fair, I don’t want to tell him either. Talk about mortifying.
“Well, you’re twenty-one and you can make your own decisions as long as you remember to be safe and say no when you don’t want to do something,” she says, and I give her a firm nod.
I was seventeen when Grace told me about her past, about how she’s a sexual assault survivor, and why it was important to her and my brother that I understood I always had the option to say no. That I wasn’t and would never be weird or annoying for asking for consent—or to demand it.
They’ve both helped me to stand up for myself from day one, especially when it comes to intimate relationships. She doesn’t want me to go through what she had to endure before she met Sammy.
“As long as he’s good to you and you’re just having fun, I don’t think your age difference matters that much.” A pause. I know a but is coming. “But”—there it is—“if you both want something more, I think you should talk about it. You’re still fresh out of college, figuring things out, and I’m assuming he has a stable job.”
“Yes.” A job I’m too familiar with, in fact. But she doesn’t have to know that part.
“It can work out if you both want to head in the same direction.” She slides me a look I can’t read. “Do you know which direction you want to take?”
I look away. “I’ll see how the job interview goes next week.”
“I’m not talking about your career.” She stops walking, and I do too. There’s firmness in her eyes and in her voice as she says, “Many adults in their mid and late twenties—or even later—change career paths and jobs, and it doesn’t have to affect a relationship. It happens. I’m talking about direction in life. If you want to stay in Norcastle, if he does, if you want to have kids and when, what he thinks about it… All that important stuff every couple should discuss before entering a serious relationship, especially if there’s an age gap between them.”
Wow. Okay, that makes sense. It makes too much sense.
James and I have loosely talked about where we are now, but what about the future? It’s definitely way too many things to consider all at once while taking a leisurely walk by the river with my family on a casual weekend.
Not to mention we have no plans to be together.
Grace must read my panicked look, because she quickly adds, “You don’t have to make a decision now. Just think about it. We only want the best for you, Maddie, and we’re so proud of you for everything you’re accomplishing on your own.”
“Not on my own,” I blurt out, unable to keep it to myself.
“Yes, on your own,” she insists. “Your brother and I will always be here to support you in every way we can, but you are making these decisions for yourself, not us. You moved out at eighteen and have never let us down since. You’re responsible and independent, and you take such good care of yourself.”
My heart feels heavier all of a sudden. “I didn’t sign up for a crying session today, Gracie.”
She laughs. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m just excited to see you, but everything I said is true. Your brother feels the same way—we talk about these things. We know you’re worried about your ankle and getting back to ballet, but we’re sure you will achieve anything you want to. You’re Maddie.”
You’re Maddie.
Is it really as simple as that?
✽✽✽
“Do you have a boyfriend, Maddsy?”
I look over my shoulder at the little girl sitting cross-legged on the couch, playing a game on my phone as I make two cheesy omelets for dinner. They’re not as delicious as my brother’s—I still haven’t mastered his impressive culinary skills—but Lila never complains about my cooking.
“She’ll agree to anything as long as she gets to spend time with you,” Grace told me once, referring to my niece’s adoration for me, and consequently melting my heart. Lila is my favorite person in the world, so I guess it’s a good thing I also made it to her top three.
Placing the first omelet on a plate, my stomach somersaults at the reminder of my morning with James, as well as the previous night. No matter what we did or said, though, the reality is that… “No, Li, I don’t have a boyfriend. Do you?”
“Daddy says I can’t date until I’m thirty,” she says so matter-of-factly I can’t help but throw my head back in laughter. Sounds like something my brother would say, all right.
Adding the second batch of beaten eggs to the pan, I tell her, “Your dad is a bit overdramatic.”
“That’s what Mommy says.”
My lips twitch.
We don’t doubt that Sammy lives and breathes for us, and we love him for it, but he needs to relax a little. Or a lot.
Once dinner is ready, I take both of our plates and sit on the couch next to my niece. She puts my phone away, licking her lips impatiently as I set an omelet in front of her.
We eat in silence, a princess movie we’ve watched together a million times playing on TV, until Lila blurts out in that out-of-the-blue way only kids can get away with, “Daddy said you were feeling sad about not dancing anymore.”
My dinner turns in my stomach. “He did?”
I’m not bothered by it because it’s the truth. Lila probably asked, and he didn’t want to lie to his daughter. I can respect that.
She nods as she takes the last bite of her food. “You can feel sad, Maddsy. Mommy says it’s okay to cry because that means we care a lot about something. Caring about things is good.”
Who would’ve guessed this sleepover was about to turn into a crying session with my eleven-year-old niece? Not me, that’s for sure.
I give her a wobbly smile. “Your mom is right. And it’s true that I was sad, but I’m feeling better now.”
“That’s good.” She reaches out her hand to grab the glass of water I brought her earlier and takes a sip. Then she suggests, “You can read one of Mommy’s books if you feel sad again.”
There’s simply no way I could love her any more—my heart would burst. She’s such a compassionate soul, a precious gift, a literal angel. It never ceases to amaze me how wise she is beyond her years. Her empathy knows no limits, and I admire her for it.
“That’s a great idea,” I tell her. “Do you still read her books?”
I know my brother and Grace used to read them to her all the time when she was younger, but I’m not sure what their routine is like now that I’ve moved out.
She’s quick to nod. “Yes, I love them. My favorite is the one about my grandpas.”
The retelling of Grace’s adoption story holds a very special place in my heart, too.
“Did you know that she wrote that book for me?”
Her eyes widen. “No way.”
“Yep.”
Grace wrote her own adoption book shortly after I started therapy as a child to show me that I wasn’t alone, that she knew what I was going through. It was her first book that fell into the bibliotherapy category, and I remember her saying that new twist in her career felt right. So much so that she hasn’t stopped writing those kinds of books since.
And just like her stories have changed my life and shaped Lila’s, I’m sure they’ve reached countless other kids who needed it.
My niece drops her head on my lap after we’re done with dinner, my fingers playing with her blond hair. “It makes sense that it’s my favorite book,” she says in a quiet voice, “because you’re my favorite person, Maddsy.”
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“You’re my favorite person too.” I bop her nose and get a giggle in return. “Have you thought of writing books like your mom when you grow up?”
She purses her lips, thinking about it. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I like writing a lot, but I want to help people like she does.”
This is the first time she’s mentioning any of this to me, so now I’m intrigued. “People in general?”
Her shoulders rise and fall. “I don’t know yet. But I think maybe children.” She pokes me in my stomach. “Just like that lady helped you.”
It’s no secret to Lila that I’ve been to therapy. Eventually, when Lila got older, she got curious about it. My brother told her that, when I was a kid, Grandma got sick and she couldn’t take care of me, and that my dad was gone. Grace then took her time explaining to her what therapy was and why I had to go.
Instead of finding it weird or scary, Lila bombarded me with questions about what it was like to tell a stranger all your secrets and how someone who didn’t know you could help you so much. She’s always seemed fascinated by it.
“Helping people, especially children, is a job for very special people. And since you’re the most special person I know, I’m sure you’d be great at it and make a big difference,” I tell her, my hands still stroking her hair.
She looks up at me with big, inquisitive eyes. “Do you really think that?”
It’s with full conviction that I say, “I know it, Li. You’re smart and have a great heart—you can do whatever you set your mind to. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Later that night, as she gently snores on my lap while the princess movie still plays in the background, I decide to channel some of Lila’s boldness and grab my phone. Because there’s something I’ve been dying to do all day, and I can’t wait any longer.
Me: I lied. I don’t want to be with you for only one night.
His reply doesn’t take longer than a few moments.
James: Looks like we’re both terrible liars.
