Fifteen

Isaac

This woman is soft and yielding in my arms. I think I’m addicted to her lips. Her taste. To the way she feels and smells and sounds. I like the way she sighs right before I kiss her deeply. I also like how she shifts closer and closer to me, as if she wants me to absorb her completely.

Amelia’s still a little reluctant, though. I can see it. How she looks at me, the things she admits. She wants more, but she’s not used to asking for it. She’s attracted to me, but she’s nervous. I can’t blame her. After getting out of a long-term relationship not so long ago, anyone would be cautious.

Does this mean I’m the rebound man? Maybe. I’m not looking for a serious relationship out of this. That’s what I told myself from the beginning.

But now…

Now, I feel so connected to this woman. I want to learn more about her. I want to learn everything. It’s mind blowing, how fast this has escalated. She went from being the woman who accidentally ran into me to the woman who I’m going to take to bed in a matter of days. It’s wild. I don’t want it to stop either.

I can only hope she feels the same way about me.

“Come with me,” she says after she ends yet another kiss and moves out of my arms. She takes my hand and leads me down the short hall to her bedroom, turning on a small lamp that sits on the nearby dresser. It illuminates the room in a soft, white glow.

The room is simple, with not much furniture beyond the dresser and a single bedside table. It’s also very clean, not an ounce of clutter in sight. The bed is large, and covered with a thick, cream-colored comforter. There’s a mess of pillows propped against the fabric headboard that almost makes me want to laugh. Women and pillows. My mother is the same way.

I sober up immediately. That is the last person I want to think about in this moment.

“I like your room,” I tell her as I pull out of her grip and check out the photo on top of her dresser. I pick up the picture frame, studying the image. She’s standing in the middle of the group, with six women surrounding her. They have giant smiles on their faces and they all look really happy. Candice is in the photo as well.

“My friends,” she says as she comes to stand beside me, her gaze also on the photo. “I’m lucky they didn’t abandon me.”

I turn to her. “Why would they have done that?”

“Because I abandoned them,” she says, lifting her head so her gaze meets mine. “My ex demanded all of my time, and I gave it to him. They’d ask me to do stuff—go to dinner, brunch, whatever—and I always begged off and said I couldn’t make it. I ditched them constantly because he wanted all of my attention, all of the time.”