Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
I shake my head slowly. “No,” I say. Then, more honestly, “That’s kind of the problem.”
Her mouth curves again, softer this time. “Because you want more?”
I let out a quiet breath. “That’s not possible.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I mean, I shouldn’t want more. I can’t,” I correct quickly. “It was one night. That’s all it can be. You know what my folks are like.”
Joelle doesn’t respond right away. She leans back against the counter, studying me the same way she did when I first walked in. “I know what your folks are like.”
“Exactly.”
“And I get why you care about what they think. They’re in your life, and they care.”
Poor Joelle only has a mom who’s more interested in her own love life than anything her daughter might be going through.
I open my mouth, then close it again. “They are.”
“But if they weren’t, what would you want?”
I glance toward the window without meaning to, toward the stretch of land beyond it, where the barn sits in the distance. It’ll always be the place where my desires were awakened, until I put them back in a box.
I don’t know how to answer her question. It’s a hypothetical I have no business considering.
Last night was an interlude in my life. A few hours where I could live in a different skin and push the boundaries that confine me to the absolute limits.
But now, I have to put it all aside and pretend nothing happened in that barn. Pretend I’m the Janey I was before Mason and Brookes Fletcher took me apart and put me back together.
“I’m leaving this morning,” I say, more to convince myself than her.
Joelle nods slowly. “You don’t have to. You can stay as long as you like. But I understand.”
I could stay, but the Fletcher brothers live close enough to drop by after a hard day's work, and I know I won’t be able to resist them if they do.
Once, I can pass off as experience.
Once, I can guard my heart.
But twice?
Twice is the start of a habit, and habits are painful to break.
“You won’t try to talk me out of it?” I ask.
She smiles a little. “Would it work?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t waste my breath.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head.
“Just…” she adds, her tone gentler now, “don’t pretend it didn’t mean anything if it did.”
I look at her, my chest tightening unexpectedly.
“It didn’t mean anything,” I say automatically.
She gives me a look that says she knows me better than that.
And the worst part is… she might be right.
***
On the drive home, my thoughts are crowded, layered over each other, making it hard to focus on anything for more than a second at a time.
I keep replaying what happened. The way they touched me and the way my body responded, like it had been waiting for them. The quieter moments linger. The way Mason said my name like it carried weight, and buried his face in my neck, relishing my tender fingers in his hair. The way Brookes watched, so patiently, like he was certain I’d go to him without being asked. The soft kisses we shared as he wrapped me up in his warmth.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, letting out a slow breath. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. One night is supposed to fade. It’s supposed to blur at the edges and soften into a memory you can tuck away and revisit safely in your own head without it disrupting everything else.
This doesn’t feel like anything like that. It feels like it’s following me home.
By the time I pull into my driveway, the longing for strong arms and passionate kisses has settled deeper instead of lifting.
Home should fix that.
Home is my sanctuary.
My house looks exactly the same as it did when I left it. It’s neat, quiet, and predictable since Joelle and Little Caleb left. Everything has a place, and nothing moves unless I decide it should. I sit in the car for a moment after turning off the engine, staring at the front door, and reminding myself that this is my life. This is the version of me that makes sense. The version that meets approval.
I can squeeze myself back into the round peg that fits in the round hole. The corners I developed when I was wild and free with Mason and Brookes aren’t so sharp. They’ll be easy to sand away with a shower and a good night's sleep.
I grab my bag and head inside before I can think anymore.
The soft hum of the fridge greets me, along with the scents of home as I step through the door: my apple shower soap, and the cinnamon buns I made two days before I left for Joelle’s. It should feel comforting, but instead, it feels too quiet.
I set my bag down and head straight for the bathroom, turning the shower on hotter than usual, as though heat might wash away the lingering awareness still clinging to my skin, but every place the water touches feels more sensitive, as though my body hasn’t quite accepted that it’s over. My hands move over my skin without much thought, and memory follows immediately, vivid and uninvited. Between my legs, I’m slick and swollen, the residue of our arousal still present.