Chapters (89)
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ONE
- HENRY
- TWO
- EMMA
- THREE
- HENRY
- FOUR
- EMMA
- FIVE
- EMMA
- SIX
- SEVEN
- HENRY
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- HENRY
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- EMMA
- THIRTEEN
- HENRY
- FOURTEEN
- HENRY
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- EMMA
- SEVENTEEN
- HENRY
- EIGHTEEN
- HENRY
- NINETEEN
- HENRY
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- EMMA
- TWENTY-TWO
- EMMA
- TWENTY-THREE
- HENRY
- TWENTY-FOUR
- EMMA
- TWENTY-FIVE
- EMMA
- TWENTY-SIX
- EMMA
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- HENRY
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- EMMA
- TWENTY-NINE
- HENRY
- THIRTY
- HENRY
- THIRTY-ONE
- HENRY
- THIRTY-TWO
- EMMA
- THIRTY-THREE
- HENRY
- THIRTY-FOUR
- EMMA
- THIRTY-FIVE
- EMMA
- THIRTY-SIX
- HENRY
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- EMMA
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- HENRY
- THIRTY-NINE
- HENRY
- FORTY
- EMMA
- FORTY-ONE
- HENRY
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- EMMA
- FORTY-FOUR
- EMMA
- FORTY-FIVE
- HENRY
- EPILOGUE
- ALSO BY CHELSEA CURTO
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
These days it seems I don’t know left from right, too distracted by other things.
Things being…
Her.
“Whoa. Back up. Are you serious?”
“I don’t know, Neil. I don’t know what I want. Has the idea of one woman filtered through my mind lately? Yeah, it has, and it doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. Look at you! You’re happy. You don’t hate your life. Maybe I can be happy, too.”
“Cut the bullshit, Dawson. I know that wasn’t a client texting you.”
“I’m not ready to talk about it.”
“But you’re ready to go home with someone else? How does that make any sense?”
“It doesn’t,” I grumble, knowing he has a point.
I’m conflicted. The Henry of the past would have already tumbled out of my seat, pulling Lexi into a dark alcove and dropping to my knees.
But now, even the suggestion of hooking up with someone makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.
Like I’m betraying RB.
Being unfaithful to a woman who’s not even mine.
A woman who has me in a goddamn chokehold because the guilt pumping through my blood is unceasing.
It won’t stop screaming at me to go the fuck home. To walk away. To climb into bed, eagerly waiting for morning so I can text her again.
Leveling me with a stern look, Neil slides out of the booth. “It’s your life, Hen, and you can do what you want. But actions have consequences. Don’t forget that.” He pats my shoulder and walks away, leaving me all alone.
I used to think learning someone’s favorite color and food was bullshit. I didn’t care. I didn’t see the point. I asked the polite, rudimentary questions required of me so I didn’t come off like a total sleazeball. All I wanted was to have a woman on her back, my head between her knees while I ate her out then fucked her til dawn, delighted moans music to my ears. There were no promises to call or meet up again, repeating the cycle again and again until my dick was sore and I couldn’t remember anyone’s name.
These days, I’m constantly thinking about all the questions I want to ask RB while hopelessly wishing there were more hours in the day to hear her answers.
I can’t get enough.
Every minute I wait for a response is another minute wasted. A minute that’s escaped us, never to return, a grain of sand in an hourglass ticking away toward a conclusion.
A dreaded ending.