It Started with a Kiss

“Then don’t.”

The answers come so easily to her. I always thought as a social worker, she’d see things as right or wrong, fair or unfair, but she lives in the gray area, her heart empathetic to others. That’s not a trait I was born with, but I’m envious of her. I’m so fortunate to have her in my life. She knows my heart, and I’ll be forever grateful for her friendship.

“Maybe it is that easy,” I say, “and I’m overthinking this. The man didn’t ask me to marry him. It was only a kiss, no matter how amazing it was.”

“I can tell you’re tired. Go easy on yourself and get some rest, Marlow. You can deal with everything in the light of day instead of self-sabotaging yourself in the late hour.”

The university’s freshmen orientation may have brought Tealey and Cammie into my life, but our friendship has thrived over the years. The weight of my worries begins to dissipate. “Why do I feel like I have to solve all my problems tonight?”

“I don’t know. You have a lot going on in your life, so maybe that’s making you restless.”

“You’re right.” Thinking about Jackson brings a smile to my face. “I can go back in there and just sleep.”

“Exactly. Just enjoy your time with him.”

Breathing becomes easier. “Hey,” I whisper, “thanks for answering.”

“Always. Go have a good night.”

“You, too. Good night.”

I hang up and return my phone to my bag before slipping back into bed. There’s no great production. Jackson just rolls over and wraps me in his arms again like we’ve done this a million times.

Reveling in the feel of him pressed against me, I close my eyes, feeling safe, feeling cared for, feeling cherished, and fall back asleep.

Startling awake in the gentle light of the rising sun, I gasp as my heart races. Fortunately, Jackson’s still asleep next to me.

Not closing the blinds before we fell into bed was a mistake, although understandable since he’s utterly distracting. The man is a modern-day Adonis, and he kept his promise. I forgot all about the rest of the world. At least for a few hours.

I gently maneuver out from under the heaviness of his arm, the heat too much to stay covered, and then shield my eyes from the brightness pouring in from the outside.

Tiptoeing across the room, I go into the bathroom to freshen up. The giddiness I felt only hours ago has settled into the pit of my stomach, making me question myself all over again.

When I return to the bedroom, I stop at the end of the bed and debate what I should be doing. Leaving should be easy. It’s something I’ve done many times before. He’s walked out my door just the same, if not more. So why is my heart not as sure as my head this time?

I reach down for my dress and slip it on, zipping up the back.

Jackson St. James and I are a disaster in the making.

As different as we are, we’re too alike when it comes to relationships. We burn them to the ground before they have a chance to flicker into a flame. I put one shoe on and then lean down to put on the other.

Jackson will hate me.

But he’ll thank me one day for leaving.

I’m not emotionally built like either of my friends—Tealey, the hopeless romantic, or Cammie, the woman born to be a mother.

I take one last look at the man who opened his heart to me and, in the process, opened mine before walking to the door. I stop with my back to him.

Why am I hesitating?

Why am I fighting this?

I was raised by two dysfunctional people in the Hollywood Hills who still can’t figure out their own lives, even after being divorced from each other for fifteen years. Staying goes against my inherited nature.

They’ve had other marriages between them and countless affairs. Breakups, makeups, and a few days of being single amongst the ruins of their relationships. And their life choices have spilled down on me.

Other than my friends, I’ve never had anyone I could count on. Cam and Teals taught me the meaning of true friendship, but why continue to pretend I’m capable of ever opening my heart again when it comes to men? I’m not, especially not at this point in my life.

I already have enough trouble and don’t need to add to the pile. I’m saving him from a disaster down the road.

I look at him, sleeping so soundly, his hair growing darker with the years, his jaw that tenses during sex is relaxed. He’s so handsome that sometimes I have to look away, not feeling worthy of the way he looks at me like I’m not as damaged.

Sex with Jackson is incredible, but why’d we have to get our feelings involved?

I take a deep, staggering breath and make my way from the bedroom through his apartment, snapping up my clutch from the table near the door. There’s no reason I should stay, but a million reasons why I should go, including a package waiting for me at home.