Page 56 of Up in Smoke

Just like anyone, there’s a side of myself I don’t like. I’d never wholly accepted the darkest parts until I realized that being around Mesa made me more at peace with myself.

Now, I wish I’d never started up a friendship with her in the first place—one where we slowly learned the ins and outs of one another instead of jumping each other’s bones right off the bat and then hoping for the best.

She’s aware of every part of me. That should turn her away. We shouldn’t have a pull this strong.

Staring out the windshield will make the thoughts go away. I’m sure of it.

Except it doesn’t. And less than twenty minutes later, all I’ve done is speed out of Mesa’s driveway and continue to think about having her. All of her.

Even as I finally make it home and storm into my room, she’s in my head.

While I throw my clothes in the washer and take a scalding hot shower, she’s in my head.

She’s everywhere.

I aggressively pull back the covers and slip into my bed. My dick twitches in sad protest.

I wasn’t done. Go back,it says.

I lift the comforter and glare at it. “Shut up. This is your fault.”

And now I’m talking to body parts? I’m a lunatic. A dumb, stupid, every word in the book for a no-good nutjob who blames his dick for the mess his heart is responsible for.

With my phone plugged up on the other side of the room, I try to distract myself the old-fashioned way. Unfortunately, my go-to thought topics, like baseball, all remind me of her. The moon has already started its descent when I give up and let my head go where it wants.

I have to slam my eyes shut just thinking about her writhing beneath me. I feel like rolling over and punching the pillow when flashbacks of her kissing me while my hands roam over her body invade my mind.

She was spectacular.

The problem here is me.

My biggest fear is that I crave more closeness with her, which I guess is understandable considering the types of conversations and interactions we’ve had lately. Sadly, the only way I knew how to get closer to her was by trying to get in her pants under the guise of teaching her how to let someone blow her mind and not care afterward.

Big success that was. Here I am caring. Very fucking much.

What does that say about me? Why couldn’t I have just hugged her and let her vent about the sex stuff instead of throwing my hat in the ring? Continued the way we always had?

Our friendship may have been enough for me before tonight, and I should have let someone else give her what she wants in bed. But the opportunity to quench both of our thirsts wasn’t just an open door. It was a shiny golden archway with a massive blinking sign above it that saidhorny bastards enter here.Selfish. That’s what I am.

Still, I can’t stomach the idea of someone else lying next to her. I can’t even stomach the idea of anyone but melookingat her.

The fallout is on me. I’ll deal with the awkward exchanges that are sure to come. I’ll deal with the terrifying realization thatwhat we had is never going to be enough for me now. I have no choice.

I was always meant to remain unattached. I’m supposed to be the one who wouldn’t dare catch feelings.

So why, when the sun rises, am I chugging a cup of scalding coffee to burn the taste of her from my tongue? I don’t even like coffee. And why, when I stumble through a day’s work, am I fighting for my life against calling her just to hear her voice?

By early evening, I walk into the bunkhouse, scowling at the kitchen full of my friends that I’ve successfully avoided all day until now. Almost twenty-four hours still wasn’t enough for me to stop thinking about her.

“I hate golf,” Gage grumbles.

Warren huffs as I hang my hat by the door and take off my shoes. “Well, what am I supposed to do? Blythe vetoed the Vegas trip.”

“I really don’t give a shit about a bachelor party, guys. I already had a long and wild one—my entire twenties.”

“Get wasted one last time before the death of your dreams. It’s a rite of passage,” Heston chimes in with an uninterested monotone voice.

“Damn. The hell happened to you?” Gage asks me as I push my hands through my disheveled hair and pass by them to pull two bottles of beer from the fridge.

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