“I got here just in time,” Anders said, and I jumped.
“Shit! You scared me.” I lightly elbowed him in the ribs as he pressed himself against my ass. He was hard already. “How did you get in here?” I whispered as he kissed my neck.
“I have a key, remember?”
Anders skated his hand over my stomach, running his fingernails over my skin. He smelled like sandalwood, his scent heavy in the steam surrounding me.
“I forgot,” I mumbled as he took me in his hand, stroking me until I was hard.
I turned my head and let his lips find mine as I pressed a hand to the tile.
Anders released me, and I turned to face him. His pupils were dilated, transfixed as he lowered himself onto his knees. My fingers curled into his wet hair as the heat of his mouth consumed me. He cupped my ass with his hands, pulling me deeper, until he gagged.
“Christ.”
I raked my other hand through his hair. Holding his head, I fucked his mouth, knowing that I should stop, knowing that the conversation I had to have with him would be that much more hurtful after this. The complicated web I’d sewn tangled itself even more as I came in his mouth.
After I’d returned the favor, we’d both cleaned up and gotten dressed. Anders was running some pomade through his hair when he said, “So, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“That sounds ominous,” I teased, putting the finishing touches on my eyeliner. When I opened the drawer to put it away, I saw the extra key I’d given him. I picked it up. “Are you giving this back to me?”
Anders dried his hands on the towel and set it on the sink. He clenched his jaw, swallowing, he looked at me.
“I hate it when you wear eyeliner,” he said, grazing his thumb over my cheek.
“I know.”
He dropped his hand and shoved it into his pocket. “I can feel it, Wilder. I’ve known you long enough. You’re pretty good at distancing yourself, even when you’re coming in my mouth.”
“Anders, I—”
He shook his head, his lips spreading into a soft smile. “I can’t be mad about it. You’re not over him, and I don’t know if you’ll ever be, at least not anytime soon. Some hurts are never healed.”
I nodded—my throat too tight to talk.
He brought his hand to the back of my neck and kissed my forehead. “It’s my fault too, I should’ve known better. You warned me.” He took a step back, his arm falling to his side. “I didn’t want to listen. I wanted you too much.”
“I wanted you, too,” I said, finding my voice.
“But…”
“I’m not ready for the commitment you want. And I can’t ask you to wait around for me to get my head on straight either.”
“What do we do now?” he asked.
“That’s up to you. Do you think you can still work with me?”
“Now I’m offended.” He laughed. “Jesus, Wilder, of course, I can. We were friends before we were anything else. I may have to go home and lick my wounds for a bit, but I’ll get over it.” He took my hand in his, threading his fingers through mine. “Eventually.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing those two words did nothing to help the situation. But I meant it.
He pulled me into a hug, his strong arms offering me a closure I shouldn’t expect from him. “I know.”
My breakup with Anders, if I could even call it that, was messing up my mojo. I’d only written about five-hundred words since I’d gotten to the coffee shop. As much as I needed to end things with him, it didn’t feel great to lose yet another relationship. Yes, our friendship and professional relationship had remained intact, but I was exhausted with myself. I shut my laptop and checked my watch. June was late, not a new concept for her. My coffee was gone, and my mood was less reasonable by the minute. I thought about packing up and leaving, but in true form, June walked in right in the nick of time.
“Sorry I’m late.” She kissed my cheek before she sat down. She waved at the barista with a smile. “The usual, Joyce,” she hollered over the music and chatter of the room.
“I broke up with Anders,” I blurted, and her eyes widened. “Well, he sort of broke up with me.”
“Good for him.”
I gave her a withering glare. “Excuse me. You’re supposed to be my support system, not his.”
“You’ll live,” she said, just as Joyce set her coffee onto the table. “Thank you.”
“Let me know if you need another.” Joyce smiled before leaving to help another customer.
June sipped from the cup with a little moan. “Thank God for caffeine, I wouldn’t make it tonight without it.”
“I don’t know how you work three twelve-hour night shifts in a row and not kill anyone.”
“Sometimes I wonder the same thing.” She grinned. “Now give me what I came here for.”
“You don’t want to talk about Anders?” I asked.
“God, no. I want those emails. Anders is old news.”
I opened up the messages on my phone, shaking my head. “Your disregard for my emotional wellbeing is shocking.”
“Did you cry?” she asked, and I shook my head. “I didn’t think so. Can we move on now?”
I handed her my phone but didn’t let go when she tried to take it. “I’m betraying Jordan’s trust by letting you read these.”
“I’ll be sure not to tell him.” She tugged on the phone and I reluctantly let go.
I waited for an eternity as she read, tortured by every passing minute. June’s facial expressions were my only saving grace, and I swore at one point I thought her eyes were glassy.
“This is so sad,” she said, setting my phone on the table.
“Do you think I’m being catfished?”
“I mean, I can’t be sure, but wow. His story, it’s sad. It reminds me of Jax’s.”
“Unfortunately, shit like this happens for a lot of people. You know that as well as I do. It’s not like Jax is the only closet case to ever live.”
“I think this guy is for real, Wilder, and that makes me worry for you.”
“For me?” My brows pinched together. “Why?”
“He’s not Jax.”
My face heated with anger. “No shit, June.”
“Calm down, I’m just saying. You can’t fix everyone.”
“I never wanted to fix Jax,” I argued, knowing I wasn’t being honest with myself. She raised a brow and I folded. “Okay, maybe I tried to help him. I loved him, June. I wanted him to be able to live an open life. To be himself.”
“And how did that turn out?”
“I hate you sometimes,” I said, picking up my laptop and shoving it into my bag.
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I just want you to be careful.”
“I will be.” I stood, pulling my bag over my shoulder.
“Alright, then. Sit down. I just got here. Stop throwing a tantrum and tell me about this breakup.”
June’s concern was not unwarranted. I had a pattern, and she was simply reminding me to break the cycle.