by Marni Mann
His mouth came closer, hovering in front of mine.
As I swallowed his air, feeling the heat come off his body, I could almost taste his skin.
And it was wrong.
But it was right.
And that thought was too much, yet it wasn’t enough.
Everything inside my body hurt, and I was tingling and pulsing at the same time.
I couldn’t find air, no matter how hard I tried, but there was an overabundance hitting my face.
I just couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t …
Oh God, no.
His lips were on me, and as soon as I felt them, I pulled my face away and breathed, “No …”
But his hands didn’t leave, and his grip didn’t loosen. While my chest heaved, he continued to hold me and wouldn’t let go.
“Chloe …” he said again.
When he leaned forward, he didn’t put his mouth on me but kept it an inch away. He stroked my cheek, staring at me in a way where I forgot we were standing on the edge of the busiest sidewalk in Amsterdam, six years later. And instead, it felt like we were standing just outside the airport, getting our chance once again.
But it was different this time.
I was different.
And while I got used to him being this close again, I took in his gaze, a place I used to want to live in forever. A place that was so comfortable, familiar, and the tightening slowly started to lighten.
“Sweet girl …”
Closer.
Only air separating us.
I sucked in a mouthful. Holding it. Feeling the breeze move through my chest.
His mouth softly brushed mine once more, and a spark shot through me.
A warmth.
An energy I remembered and had missed.
I didn’t fight the feeling in my body.
I didn’t pull away.
I didn’t think I could.
I reached forward, fisting his sweater in my palms, squeezing it with every bit of strength I had.
And when his lips grazed mine, they stayed there. His heat shot straight down my body, and I felt it in my toes.
“Oliver …” I breathed, inhaling his scent as my lips parted, a name I hadn’t said like this in so long.
A tremor moved through my chest, and I squeezed his sweater even harder, my mouth opening again for his tongue. His palms pushed into my cheeks, his body pressing into mine.
And I remembered.
Like his lips were whispering memories, I could recall every time they’d kissed me, and every feeling came back, every emotion filling me.
“Oh God.” I quivered, and he was even closer.
The sweater was no longer under my fingers, and instead, I felt the rough, sharp whiskers of his beard and the way they were dragging across my face, my skin stinging …
In a way it hadn’t in a long time.
And just as that thought really settled, Oliver sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth lightly gnawing over it, gradually letting it go.
My eyes shot open.
The ice blue stared back.
And with it … came a shock.
One that quaked through my entire body.
If I knew he wouldn’t catch me, I would have started running, but the crowd was too thick, and Oliver was much faster than me.
My hand went to my chest, pushing against it to find air. “I have to go.”
He must have sensed my urgency because he gripped my hand and weaved us through the maze of pedestrians who were all partying at this hour. It was too loud to speak, too congested to walk side by side, so Oliver continued in front, and I squeezed his hand from behind.
And when I felt him stop, I looked up and saw we were several feet from the entrance of my hotel.
I released his hand and took several steps away, my heart beating so fast that I was sure it was going to explode. “Oliver …”
He tried to come closer, and my palm went in the air to stop him.
“I can’t …” I breathed, but there was no air. “I’m married, Oliver. This is fucked. I can’t do it. I love my husband, and I can’t do this to him … to us.”
Pain shot through his eyes, and he went to reach forward again, but I stepped back.
“Chloe, I’m sorry.”
I was putting more space between us, but as I stared at him, my chest was seizing, my throat closing. “We can’t do this,” I repeated again. “Not ever again. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”
“Chloe …” He was breathing fast, his eyes full of emotion. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just … fuck.” He pulled at the top of his hair, teeth stabbing his lip. “I got caught up in the moment, and it’s just so fucking hard to see you and remember that you’re not mine anymore.”
If there was any breath left, it was gone.
What was left was a feeling that was far bigger than me.
When he said my name, I didn’t look over my shoulder. I just pushed my feet across the ground as fast as I could and hurried through the lobby to my room. Once I got inside, I stripped off my clothes, and I was naked by the time I got in the bathroom, turning on the shower as hot as it would go.
As I waited for the water to warm, I gripped the sink with both hands, letting it bear my weight, digging inside my body to find a calm.
To find a way to stop the tightening.
To make this all feel normal again.
To return to before.
But before was gone.
Everything I had known … was gone.
When I went to swallow, I couldn’t.
I tried to scream and had no voice.
I attempted to inhale and wasn’t able to do that either.
Panicked, I looked up at the mirror, and I caught sight of the girl staring back at me.
The one with wild hair from the wind of Amsterdam and red eyes from the tears that were dripping from them.
And lips that, when licked, still had the taste of Oliver.
I didn’t recognize her.
I didn’t recognize me.
I …
What the fuck did I just do?
Forty-Three
London: We need to talk.
Me: I’m not ready for that yet.
London: I’m here when you are.
London: You’re leaving in four days, Chloe. I think we should have a conversation before you go.
Me: I … just can’t.
London: I stopped by your office, and they said you already left for the night. I wanted to see you before you flew back tomorrow.
Me: I went for a walk. I needed air.
London: Did you find it?
Me: Nope.
London: What time is your flight?
I stared at Oliver’s last text, my eyes stinging, fingers hovering above the letters to type a reply.
Once I left in the morning, I wouldn’t be back for two weeks, and there were so many things I should say to him before I left.
But as I was tucked under the covers of my bed, looking out the window at the evening lights of Amsterdam, the thought of saying any of those things made me want to hide.
So did the thought of going home.
I turned my phone to silent and set it on the nightstand, and I covered my head with the blanket.
Me: I’m coming over at 10. Don’t ask. I just need my best friend.
Molly: You know I’m always here for you, babe.
“Girl, what is going on?” Molly said after she opened her door and took a look at me. “Come here, honey.”
She threw her arms out, and I fell into her embrace, squeezing her with every bit of strength I had left.
Strength that hadn’t come from the two sleepless nights I spent in Boston and every minute since I’d been back with Lance.
Except these few seconds.
And I could finally … lose it.
Oh God.
“I took out stuff for mimosas,” she said, her palm rub
bing circles between my shoulder blades, “but I think it’s a vodka kind of morning.” Her hand stilled. “Let’s get you inside so I can funnel it in you.”
She unraveled her body and clasped my hand in hers, bringing me over to the couch in the living room.
I pulled the stuffed unicorn beside me into my arms and held it against my chest as she went into the kitchen. “Where’s May?”
She set two glasses on the counter, filled them with ice, and stopped pouring the vodka when she hit the halfway mark. As she carried the tumblers into the living room, she said, “She’s at the park with my sitter, and they have plenty of cash to keep them busy for hours.”
I held the drink in my palm, staring at the clear liquid, the ice bobbing over the top.
“Drink.”
I slowly looked up at the sound of my best friend’s voice, my lips trembling as our eyes connected, and I said, “Molly, I really fucked up.”
She was sitting next to me, one hand on my arm, the other on my back again. “Start from the beginning, babe.”
I nodded, but the emotion was already there, rippling in my throat. With it came a tightness that spread through my chest and traveled all the way to my stomach. And that was when the rawness started to eat away at me. “I would never do anything to purposefully hurt him …”
She was searching my eyes, hunting for an answer, and I saw the moment it hit her. “Drink.”
I felt the coolness of the glass between my lips as I swallowed.
“Now, tell me what happened.”
I set the glass on my thigh, waiting for the acid to settle in my throat. “Oliver’s old roommate Jake was in town, visiting from London, and he asked me to come out. God, it felt just like old times.” The tears were brimming over my lids, falling straight to my chin. But they were so thick that I couldn’t see my best friend’s face. One I’d cried in front of for years, but this occasion felt so different. “Molly,” I gasped when something seized my throat.
She gripped me even harder, speaking in my ear when she said, “We’re going to get through it, just keep going.”
There was no breath in my body, no air anywhere in this room, but somehow, I continued, “The three of us were at a bar, drinking. I’d been there for hours, and it was time for me to go home.”
It all began to replay—the expression on Oliver’s face as we’d stood outside the pub, the feel of his lips on mine, the roughness of his whiskers on my cheek.
“He kissed me, Molly.” I swallowed and tried to open my lungs. “And I fought it. Oh God, I fought it.” I wiped the tears only so I could see the truth in her eyes, so I could torture myself again over it. “But then I stopped fighting … and I kissed him back.” My chest was so tight that my words sounded like I was hyperventilating. “A few seconds was all it lasted, and then I freaked out, and he apologized.”
She gave me a look, but I put my hand up to silence her.
“Before you say anything, we’re both at fault.” Tears were covering my lips, and I swiped my tongue across them. “I don’t know what the fuck happened to me.” The words were clenching my tongue, my throat, but I had to get them out. “I love my husband, Molly. I love him more than anything, and I don’t know what to do.”
She lifted my hand again, putting the glass to my lips. “Finish it.”
The vodka burned all the way down, and I continued swallowing until there was only ice left. “What do I do?”
She was breathing so fast that I could see her fingers were white on my arm even through the tears. “Did you ever tell Lance that you work with Oliver?”
I shook my head.
Because I’d never expected …
This.
“You’ve been there three months. If you tell him now, it’s only going to make things worse, especially after what happened.”
My stomach was churning, my mouth watering. “I know.”
She was quiet for several seconds. “You know this is wrong; you don’t need me to tell you that. I’ve never been the friend to judge you, and I’m certainly not going to start now. But, babe, there are obviously still feelings there, and you have to make a decision.”
I could see the pain I was causing her, and I hated myself for it.
“Do you want to ruin your marriage and everything you guys have built together?”
“No.”
It wasn’t louder than a breath, but it was honest, and I could tell she’d heard me.
Her eyes turned more serious than I’d ever seen them, and her hands made sure my attention didn’t shift anywhere. “Then, tell Oliver it was a huge mistake and that you were caught up in memories, but you’ve moved on with your life. Even if it hurts. Even if it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do, you have to stop.”
London: Talk to me, sweet girl.
Me: This is incredibly difficult.
London: It always has been for us.
Me: I feel like I can’t breathe.
London: That’s how I feel without you.
“Did you have a good time with Molly?” Lance asked as I walked into the kitchen of our condo, where he was working at the island.
Since I’d been traveling back and forth to Europe, he’d been doing more of that now.
Something I’d appreciated until I returned home from this trip and hated the feel of my own skin.
“It was good to see her,” I said, putting on a smile as I went over to the fridge.
My hands were shaking as I grabbed the bottle of water, my legs feeling weak as I turned around, not realizing Lance was standing directly behind me.
I hadn’t heard him.
Or felt him.
But now, he was reaching over my head, getting something off the shelf behind me, and as he neared my body, I did everything I could not to shake.
His arm dropped to his side, and his face came closer, the softness of his cheek brushing against mine. His lips moved to the corner of my mouth, and he whispered, “I love that I can do this anytime I want for the next two weeks.” He gave me the softest kiss on my cheek before he walked back over to his laptop.
“Me too,” I breathed, and I pushed my back against the closed fridge. “This is much harder than I thought it was going to be.” I stayed there, frozen, unable to move because everything inside me was screaming.
“You look like you’re still on Amsterdam time.”
I glanced at my husband, not remembering when I had looked away. And my fingers squeezed the top of the bottle, the teeth on the plastic ring biting my skin. “I am.”
“Go take a bath, baby. The jet lag should be gone by tomorrow.”
I put on another smile, something I’d been perfecting since I’d been home, and I carried the bottle through the kitchen and into our bathroom where I turned the water on as hot as it would go.
Forty-Four
“Good morning, gorgeous,” Oliver said as he looked through the doorway of my office.
Even though this section of the building didn’t have glass walls, I’d felt him in the air before I heard his voice.
I’d only been back in Amsterdam for less than twelve hours, and he was already consuming me.
But now that he stood here, our eyes connecting, my body responding like he was breathing over my naked skin, a wave of dread moved through me that was fucking fierce.
“Hi,” I said softly, staring at a face that was so incredibly handsome that I had to force myself to look away. “I know we have to talk.”
That was what I’d told him through text the day after my conversation with Molly, and for the rest of my time in Boston, I’d tried to keep things as short as possible with him. Because those two weeks home with Lance were everything I’d needed them to be. And when I’d gotten on the plane, I had returned to Amsterdam with a purpose.
To never see Oliver again.
Oh God.
His arms crossed as he leaned into the frame. “I’ll be in the bar of your hotel at six thirty tonight.”
His eyes told
me he’d waited long enough to talk, and he didn’t want to wait anymore.
“I’ll be there,” I told him.
His gaze narrowed just before he said good-bye and walked out.
Seeing Oliver this early in the day, knowing what I had to do tonight, made for an extremely long morning and an even more torturous afternoon, and I left work before I should have. I just couldn’t take it anymore. And when I arrived in my room, I poured myself some champagne and soaked in my tub, hoping to find the calm I needed.
When my nerves were a little quieter, the water no longer scorching me, I got out and dressed in a pair of jeans and an off-the-shoulder long-sleeve shirt. I left my hair down in loose waves, only adding some lip gloss to my face.
I took a final look in the mirror, knowing the next time I was in this bathroom, my heart was going to feel much different than it did right now.
But I had to do this.
For Lance.
For us.
I swallowed, releasing the counter, and then I went downstairs to the lobby bar.
Since I was a few minutes early, I went up to the bartender and ordered a glass of champagne. As I watched him fill a flute all the way to the top, I said, “I’m going to charge it to my room.”
“I’ll keep your tab open.”
I thanked him and took the glass over to a table in the corner. As I sipped, I scrolled through photos my friends had posted online, shots of them around Boston, having dinner, drinks—things I was missing.
Because I was here.
I wasn’t halfway done with my champagne when I felt Oliver arrive. It was a heat that moved through my body, and my gaze lifted from my phone to search for him.
I didn’t have to look far. He was walking past the bar and tables, heading straight for me. And with each of his steps, I saw the way his jeans hugged his long, lean legs, and when he unzipped his jacket, there was a light-blue button-down underneath that was the identical color of his eyes.
His trimmed beard grazed my cheek as he whispered, “Good evening, Chloe,” right before he kissed the center of it.