Page 23 of Until We Meet Again

"And how are you feeling?"

"Honestly? It feels like I've been punched in the gut."

"I'm sorry. I know you liked him."

"I don't know why I'm this bothered. I've only known him for, like, what? Five minutes?"

"You had a connection, Tessa. You might not have known him for very long, but that doesn't mean you have to cover up how you feel." I squeeze her hand, grateful that she isn't making me feel like some batshit crazy girl.

"I knew it wasn't going to be anything serious. But how do I move past it when he's always going to be in my face?"

"It won't be easy, but what else can you do?"

"Nothing. It's just bullshit." I grumble in frustration.

"Ice cream?" she asks, and I nod. She stands up and wanders downstairs before returningand climbing into bed with me, holding two spoons.

After spending an hour indulging in mint chocolate chip and watching an episode ofBridgerton, Jen leaves me, and I attempt to settle myself down by grabbing a book. However, my thoughts continue to spiral.

All I need to do is imagine Zane as some hideous beast who doesn't kiss like a fucking savage, doesn't touch me in a way that makes him feel completely right for me, and who I'm not longing for like some twisted sex junkie who's never actually had sex before.

And breathe.

"I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life."I take a sip of my second mug of coffee, trying my hardest to get through chapter two ofThe Great Gatsby,when my phone suddenly lights up next to me.

When I pick it up and see Zane's name, my stomach does a thousand backflips.

Z:I hate how we left things, Tessa. P.S. I miss talking to you.

I read his message, and I feel nothing but anger. He's playing with me, dangling himself in front of me when he knows I can't have him, and it's cruel.

What the hell is he thinking?

I clutch my phone tightly and release a barrage of fast tapson the screen.

T: I'm working at the library in the morning. It opens at 8, but I'll be there by 7:30. We need to talk.

I tap my legs rapidly while anxious energy pulses through my veins. I wait for Zane to respond to my message while staring at my phone, willing it to go off. Even though it doesn't, I don't think he's the kind of guy who won't show up.

The next morning, my alarm shrieks like a bird being strangled, and if I wasn't already groggy as hell, that would've been the final nail in my angry-girl coffin.

The only thing motivating me to get out of bed is the chance I have, thanks to Zane's message, to vent my frustration toward him. I know none of this is his fault, but his message to me last night saying he missed talking to me was all his own doing.

I eventually muster up the energy to drag my ass to campus. I'm not sure if Zane will even turn up, but I know I have some things that need to be said, and the sooner I can get them off my chest, the better it'll be for both of us.

When I step into the library, the familiar scent of old books drifts through the air. I begin to tidy up the remaining books from yesterday and return them to the shelves when a gentle tapping on the glass window causes me to pause. I see Zane right in front of me, and the nerves in my stomach awaken from their dormant state, mimicking the chaotic movements of a swarm of butterflies.

His message has set me back, and I'm pissed. But I know how he makes me feel when we're together, and I'm not sure which pull will be stronger—desire or anger.

Movingtoward the entrance, I remind myself to breathe, already feeling his effect on me.

I finally reach him and take in his appearance. He's wearing a crisp white shirt and navy blue trousers, and the rest of him is so exceptionally flawless that it makes me want to scream.

The door opens silently despite its age, and as he glides past me, his woodsy scent hits me.I wish I knew what it was called so that I could avoid it for the rest of my life.

After locking the door, I walk past him and around to the history section, where rows and shelves of books surround us, keeping us hidden.As his scent fades away, the familiar aroma of books envelops me once more, soothing my soul as I try to fight the anxiety I'm feeling by being in front of him.

He's standing across from me, casually leaning against the bookshelves. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes filled with hunger as I watch him mentally undress me. The silence is deafening, like both of us are holding our breaths, and the tension between us grows with every passing second.

---