Page 101 of Phoenix

“What do you mean?”

“I told her I loved her.”

“The fuck did you just say?” he says, clearly stunned.

I’ve never been the type of man who falls in love. I enjoy women, yes, but I’ve only been in one exclusive relationship in my entire life, and I don’t even think I loved her.

But Nora?

I know what I feel, deep in my bones, I feel love.

“I told her I was falling in love with her.”

“What the fuck? Where did this even come from?” he asks.

“Don’t play dumb, bro. Nora told me Amelia knew about us, which means you definitely know about us. Cut the act.”

“All right, fine, but why would that scare her off? That doesn’t make any sense—unless she really just wanted to keep it casual—and you caught feelings.”

“When is she supposed to land? Do you know?” I ask, lifting my phone from the bed and going into the kitchen.

“I’m not sure. Her flight only left about an hour ago, so not for at least five more, I’d say.”

“All right. If you hear something before me, let me know, all right?” I say, pressing the buttons on my coffee maker.

“I will. Take it easy.”

He hangs up and I lay my phone on the counter as my coffee starts to brew.

I scared her. This much is clear, but she told me she loved me too. I could feel it last night, and I needed her to know what it meant to me. What she means to me.

I stare at my phone, contemplating the next move.

She’s too independent to be chased. She’s made her decision clear, and given what she said in her note, my job is a factor.

I click her name in my contacts and my thumb hovers over the call button. I want to call her, even though I know she won’t answer. I want to call to say what I need to say. I want to call to stop her from doing this. To stop her from ending things, but I don’t.

I place my phone down on the bed and scrub a hand over my face.

She’s made her decision.

Now’s the time to respect it.

Nora

No amount of airplane vodka can numb the intense pain I’m feeling inside of my chest. I know I took the coward’s way out. I own that because I know I couldn’t make this choice while having to face him.

Because I love him.

I don’t want to love him. I don’t want to care. Why was I stupid enough to believe I could sleep with him and spend time with him without feeling something?

Because you were thinking with your vagina. That’s why.

I wave down the flight attendant to order some more airplane vodka to silence the voice in my head telling me how badly I fucked up.

“Yes, ma’am?” she asks politely.

“Can I have another vodka straight up, please?”

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