Page 40 of Making It Burn
The sunlight filtering through my bedroom curtains felt accusatory.I rolled over, checking my phone: 9:47 AM.I scrolled up to Beau’s texts from last night.Eight of them, growing increasingly worried and then playful and then just...sad.I hadn’t responded to a single one.
That kiss, though…
My chest tightened.I could still taste him—tequila and lime and something else, something that was just Beau.Could still feel the desperate way he’d pulled me closer, the sound he’d made when I’d bitten his lip.
“Stop,” I muttered, throwing off the covers and forcing myself out of bed.
I made my way to the kitchen and went through my usual routine on autopilot: Greek yogurt, granola I measured out to exactly half a cup, fresh berries, black coffee.The same breakfast I’d eaten every morning for years.Efficient.Healthy.Controlled.
It tasted like paste.
I ate it anyway, standing at my kitchen counter, staring at nothing.
Beau and I worked together.We were on the biggest case of my career.Getting involved with him would be reckless, irresponsible, potentially career-ending if it went south.There were rules about this kind of thing—maybe not official ones, but everyone knew you didn’t shit where you ate.
And yet.
I could still feel his mouth on mine.Still hear the way he’d said my name, rough and wanting.Still remember the way dancing with him had felt like the most natural thing in the world, like my body had been waiting for permission to just...let go.
I dumped the rest of my breakfast in the trash and grabbed my gym bag.
* * *
The gym was my sanctuary—iron and sweat and the satisfying burn of pushing my body past its limits.Here, effort equaled results.No ambiguity, no complications.
I loaded up the barbell for deadlifts, my usual Sunday routine.Pull, hold, lower.Pull, hold, lower.The weight was grounding, and the repetition meditative.
Except today, my mind wouldn’t quiet.
Beau’s laugh.The way his eyes had lit up when he’d seen me across that bar.The confidence in his voice when he’d said, dance with me.And the way he’d kissed me — like he had to, like he had no choice.
I added more weight to the bar, needing the distraction.But even as my muscles screamed and sweat dripped down my face, I couldn’t escape it.
I’d run.
Like a complete coward, I’d panicked and run, leaving Beau standing there confused and hurt.And then I’d ignored his texts because I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain that kissing him had felt like standing on the edge of a cliff—terrifying and exhilarating and completely beyond my control.
I finished my set and sat on the bench, chest heaving, staring at my reflection in the mirror across from me.
Who was I kidding?Beau had been at the firm for one week.Seven days.And somehow in that impossibly short time, he’d gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever had.Every argument in that conference room, every moment he’d challenged my careful plans with his instinct and chaos, every time he’d looked at me like he could see past the armor I’d spent years building.
In only one week, he’d made me want things I’d convinced myself I didn’t need.
But thinking about it and acting on it were two entirely different things.
I grabbed my water bottle and headed for the locker room.I had dinner with my father tonight, and I needed to get myself together before then.The last thing I needed was to show up looking like I’d spent the night making terrible decisions.
Even if that’s exactly what I’d done.
* * *
I pulled up to my father’s house at exactly six o’clock, because being late was not an option in the Price family.Even a family of two.
The house loomed in front of me, all brick and columns and excessive square footage.The house was in Salisbury, a pretentious neighborhood where every house tried to out-impress the next, with professionally maintained front lawns and at least two luxury vehicles in every garage.
I hated this house.
It was nothing like the home I’d grown up in—the comfortable craftsman in the Ginter Park neighborhood, with its creaky floors and overgrown garden and walls covered in family photos.That house had felt lived in, loved.This one felt like a showroom.
