Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Is she playing games with me?
There are so many parallels between our situation and this one.
Except, she doesn’t see our situation as anything similar to that.
It’s only me who understands how close she’s cutting to the truth, the truth I can never share, not with her and not with Max.
But I can’t stop.
Walking onto the balcony, I let the cool night air blow against my face, sitting down and looking over the city.
I’m on the opposite side of Danielle’s suburbs, but I can still imagine her out there, waiting for me.
If something is bothering you. I think you should try and resolve it. I’m not saying you need to outright have an argument with this person. But there’s usually a way to peacefully resolve things.
See, Damien, that’s how I know you’re so different from on the TV. The TV Damien would never say that.
I want her to get to know the real me, but I know it could end in disaster.
Am I distracting you from reading?
No, she responds almost right away. I actually prefer talking to you.
I smile or smirk again, staring at her message, knowing I should stop this here.
The more we text, the more difficult it becomes to remember Max and my duty.
I feel exactly the same as her.
I much prefer talking to her.
Prefer it over everything: working, exercising, eating, cooking, thinking, reading, or even breathing.
Just her, Danielle, made just for me.
She’s all I want and need.
Good, I text back. Because I like talking to you too.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Danielle
I lie in bed, my legs crossed, my body tingling with all the implications of the text.
I like talking to you too.
It’s such a simple message, but surely it means something.
He’s interested in me separately from work.
I basically told him how I felt using that fictional story about my workplace, but I’m not silly enough to think he magically understood.
But I had to tell him something.
I’m not sure what to respond with. I’ve been living in a world of wondering all day, doubting the work I did for Damien, aching over whether or not he’s going to like it.
I’ve tried to tell myself he’s busy – which, it turns out, he was – but all I could think about was him not wanting me the same way I want him.
Which is a given.
Urgh, I’m going around in circles.
Three dots appear and vanish, leaving me to wonder if the app is on the fritz or if he’s typing out messages and then deleting them. My panties feel full of tantalizing friction, rubbing against my sex, raw, wet, and sensitive just from thinking about my Damien.
My Damien.
So what were you doing?
I was thinking about working out. But I’ve been distracted lately, too.
Oh, by what?
The house is quiet except for Lacey’s TV show, playing quietly, and I guess she’s fallen asleep with the TV on again. It’s coming up on midnight, later than Lacey normally stays up. Dad’s at work again.
It feels like it’s just Damien and me working toward something, even if it’s the most one-sided arrangement ever.
Then his text comes through.
By a woman.
I feel like an invisible – but very physical – hand has just thumped me in the chest.
It’s like a hole has just opened inside of me, sucking away all the silly notions and unrealistic ideas about us being together.
Oh, I’m sorry about that. I hope it all works out.
I have to retype the message several times, deleting slip-ups.
I roll over, kicking the covers away, finding them way too clingy. Suddenly, the tingling temptation between my legs feels absolutely ridiculous, so misplaced I could weep.
I’m not sure it will.
A flutter of unfair hope touches me, but then I realize what I’m hoping for.
For Damien’s romantic life to crash and burn…and for what? So I can sweep in and get him while he’s feeling depressed about this other woman, so I can always be his second choice.
I’m not, he replies. But I can’t stop thinking about her. I know it’s wrong. I should know better.
Maybe this is what the ‘friend zone’ feels like. Anna used to talk about it in high school, though I’ve never experienced it myself…mostly because it’s never felt like I’m being placed in any sort of zone.
My only crush was Damien. Nobody else could or can be compared with him.
But I feel it now. The thump in my gut and the ache in my head. The vomit is churning in my belly, threatening to push up through me. It makes me sick, thinking of Damien telling himself, I can confide in her. She’s just a family friend, a business associate.
Nothing more.
He wouldn’t talk to me like this if he wasn’t interested.
I don’t understand, I reply. Who is she?
His comment about how he should know better has my still-overactive mind spinning over and over. Maybe the woman’s already married, or perhaps she’s one of his employees, and he doesn’t want things to get complicated.