Page 22 of My Infatuation with Isabella

I nod, trying to hide how enamored I am by this woman. “And from there you moved on to...”

“Barista. That one you already know about, and I learned how to make an exceptionally good cup of coffee there.”

“I didn’t get to taste it that day, but I believe you.”

“I couldn’t get the milk art right, though. So, I just used to say that all of them were clouds. Um...what else? Oh, I’ve cleaned hotel rooms.”

“I know that, too. The Royale. You mentioned it in youracceptancespeech at the Christmas eve party. Don’t you remember that night?”

The question was entirely innocent. It wasn’t my intention to transport us back to that hotel, back to room 1206, but now we’re both there. She tries to act like it doesn’t affect her, even though I can see the way her cheeks flush. She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, sucking on it as if that will erase the memory of my mouth on hers. But she can’t erase it because when I reclaimed those lips that night, I reclaimed them forever. They’re mine now...and she knows it.

Through long, thick lashes, her gaze travels over my chest and down my arms. She’s trying not to think about how it felt to have my body pressed against her. I know this because I’m trying not to think about it either. It’s impossible, though, because the only thought running through my head right now is how I stripped her naked, how I pinned her up against the wall, how I fucked her until her legs were numb. I can still hear her husky moans against my ear, the breathless whimper of my name.

“Stop thinking about me, De Lorenzo.” Her voice untangles me from my thoughts and brings me back to the present.

“You first,” I counter. It isn’t entirely uncomfortable, but it does put a damper on the conversation, and I decide to push past it before she gets weird. “Hey, didn’t you also say something about working in a nail salon? Surely, you can’t get a job like that without having experience or...doing a course on it.”

“Oh, that one I straight up lied.” She dives headfirst into that discussion without hesitation because we’re getting really good at pretending that we don’t want to rip each other’s clothes off whenever we’re alone. “I watched some videos on YouTube, but that obviously wasn’t enough. When I messed up my first client’s nails, the owner was ready to fire me, so I ran to the front, climbed up on the counter, and yelled:Free mani-pedi vouchers for anyone who brings two friends tomorrow.The next day, the place was packed. I bought juice and coffee and started serving the customers. I even convinced some of them to get other stuff done. Needless to say, she let me keep my job. Corien took me under her wing and taught me how to do nail art.”

I reach over the table and take her hand, running my thumb over her pink and black nails. Each one has a different design, and it matches her hair perfectly. “So, now you can do these on your own? They’re pretty cool.”

She tries to pull her hand away, but I tighten my grip on her fingers. Eventually, she gets the message that I’m not letting go, and we continue talking about the different jobs and experiences she’s had. I could honestly listen to her whiskey voice for hours. She’s still so easy to talk to. The conversation flows without any effort. Though hearing all this makes me feel like I’ve been...robbed. Robbed ofhow was your day at workdiscussions while eating dinner. Robbed of sharing these moments with her. I just feel robbed.

What makes it worse is knowing that things didn’t need to end the way they did. Her betrayal stole those moments from me, and I can never get them back. I hate her for that. I hate her with the same burning passion that makes me love her. I wasn’t lying when I told Dr. Burkman that my love for her is wildly scattered amongst many other things. My fierce hatred. My scalding anger. My deep, unfaltering infatuation.

From the first day I saw her in nothing but a towel on the football field, that was all it was ever supposed to be. Infatuation. And by definition, it’s supposed to be short-lived. But not with this woman. No, she is embedded in the deepest part of my being. I can’t get rid of her, no matter how hard I try. And I’ve tried. I tried to fight it until I couldn’t fight anymore, then I just allowed myself to succumb to the zombie apocalypse. It was dire, cataclysmic, and it destroyed so much, but what survived was my fierce hatred, my scalding anger, and my deep, unfaltering infatuation.

I push aside my mixed emotions and focus on the topic at hand. “Wow, you’ve...lived. I’ve had one job since leaving school, and it seems like you’ve lived a dozen lifetimes in the same amount of years.”

She brushes off the statement with a small humph. “You’re romanticizing it. I’ve been dirt broke and unable to support myself. I’m the jack of all trades, but the master of none. There’s stability in consistency, and you need stability to build a life. Look at you. You’re doing so well for yourself. You took the initiative to grow your parent’s business and now you’re rich and successful. You even supported Fran while she was studying.”

Her gaze drops to the table, and with the mention of Fran’s name, the bubble we’ve been in for the last hour pops. There’s a higher power out there who is hellbent on destroying me because it’s at that exact moment that my phone lights up with a message notification from Francesca.

Fran:Hi, Holmes. Call me when you get a chance.

And it just sits there, glowing on my screen. I can see it. I know she can see it. Dropping my head, I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale a heavy breath. The inroads I’ve made today instantly disappear, the friction returns, and all my progress is replaced with all the reasons why she hates me. She slowly pulls her hand out of mine and crosses her arms as the tension simmers between us.

“You’ve got your guard up so high around me,” I say softly.

“That’s where it needs to be. I keep forgetting that I need to watch myself when I’m around you because you always end up playing me for a fool...and I fall for it every fucking time.”

“I’m not playing you for a fool. How are you even?”

“Well, you’re either playing me or you’re playing Fran or you’re playing both of us. Either way, I don’t want to be part of this game.” She stands up. “I’ll see you upstairs, De Lorenzo.”

“Bella.”

She doesn’t even spare me a backward glance and heads straight for the elevator. I sit there, wallowing in my thoughts for a few minutes, before I pick up my phone. My situation with Francesca is so fragile. I don’t want to damage our relationship more than I already have, so I think long and hard about how I’m going to respond.

Me:Hey. I’m just out at the moment. I’ll call you later.

Fran:No worries. I just needed the number for the plumber. The pipe in the upstairs bathroom is leaking again.

I send her the number, then take a short breather before I walk back to the lobby. I find Dr. Burkman there, and she greets me with a bright smile.

“Good afternoon, Dylan.”

“Hi, Doc.” My tone is dull and dreary, and she picks up on it immediately.

---