Page 55 of Not Made to Last

She’d been honest from the beginning—that whatever was to happen between us was to a) stay between us and b) end assoon as her brothers got back. And by “end,” she meant full no-contact.

It was my choice whether I agreed with her terms: I could have her for a limited time, or I couldn’t have her at all.

To me, the decision was easy.

What wasn’t easy was the aftermath. The non-goodbye, followed by every single waking minute after.

But I respected Olivia, which meant that I had to respect her wishes, too. I did what she asked, and I kept my distance, hoping that one day, it would be enough to erase the visceral need to be with her. Then… eventually, that same distance mixed with time would make her nothing more than a memory. And that memory wouldn’t include the heartache I felt when she found the strength to walk away—even while I was still weakened by her presence.

29

Olivia

I try to scream, but the hand covering my mouth mutes all sound, and any attempt to fend off the arm around my waist is futile. He’s too damn strong, or I’m too damn weak, or maybe…

Maybe I’m not all that determined to fight him…

I knew the second my back slammed into his chest that there was nothing to fear about the boy who’d literally lifted me off my feet and carried me into the dark room, closing the door after us.

Mouth to my ear, his chuckle warms my neck, flooding my mind with memories of other times he’d done exactly that… while we were in his bed…

Naked.

Sweating.

Satisfied.

It takes a moment to clear those thoughts. To remember where I am, how I got here, and, most importantly, who I’m with.

Oscar must be really good at reading people, because swear, “seeing a ghost” is exactly how I felt when I saw Rhys thismorning. And don’t get me wrong; it’s not as if I thought I’d never see him again. I figured one day I might run into him—when he came home to visit or check on the restaurant, buthere? In this capacity? Me as a student and him as acoach?The thought never even crossed my mind. How could it? He was supposed to be in Colorado. He told me so himself. “When summer’s over, my ass will be in Colorado with her and my parents.”They were his exact words, verbatim. I memorized them—all so I could reason the choices I made that night…

…and the twelve nights after.

The problem with being with Rhys is that one time isn’t enough. I became addicted, like I’d been a fiend for years and he was the only drug that could cure me. It all happened so fast—the hunger and cravings—that I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. And it wasn’t even just the physical pleasure that occurred when we were together. I became addicted to his presence, to the way he made me feel.

He made me believe I wasmorethan I was.

That I was bigger. Braver.Betterthan I was.

Who wouldn’t want to feel that way always?

But we were on borrowed time, and we both knew and accepted that. We didn’t make plans or promises. We simply existed together in the time Max and Dominic were away, and the night before they were to return, I kissed him in his sleep, whispered goodnight, snuck out of his bed, and drove away. I didn’t get far before my tears made it impossible to see straight. I pulled over on the same street where I’d hit him—where all of this started, and I gave myself one minute, and one minute only. I let out all my emotions. Then I took a deep breath, wiped the liquid heartache from my cheeks, and carried on with my life as if twelve days with Rhys Garrett meant nothing. As if being with him didn’t dig up all my selfish wants and desires and bring them to the surface…

All so I could bury them deep again.

Now, I blindly turn in his arms, unsure of what to say, because my mind’s suddenly foggy with the merescentof him. I’m a mess. Truly. My lips part, ready to speak, but even in the darkness, his mouth finds mine and they become perfectly succinct, as if drawn to each other—like magnets attracting,colliding. He tilts his head, begging for access, and I give in to his wants. Tomyneeds. And then hekissesme. Warm. Wet.Perfect. As if his mouth was made for nothing more than this single act. Not for speech. Not for taste. Just for kissing me. He swipes his tongue along mine in long, slow strokes, exactly the way he’s licked my?—

I moan against his lips, my knees weakening at the memories. He catches me, holding my head in place so he can deepen the kiss even more. One hand on the side of my face, the other cradles my neck, squeezing gently. And I lose myself to him.

Again.

My mind plays back all these same moments with him.

Kissing him in my bed.

In his.

His sofa.

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