The Perfect Life (19 page)

“Her eyes carried

a certain kind

of silence that

begged to be

understood and I

felt as if I was

a scientist,

staring with eager,

fervent eyes into

galaxies that have not

yet had the chance

to be named.”

–Christopher Poindexter

Oliver

MONROE KNOCKED ON
the door at precisely nine o’clock, and although I’d been counting down the minutes for her to arrive ever since the moment she’d left, I suddenly wasn’t ready to face her. I’d spent the entire night going back and forth between replaying that fucking kiss in my mind and beating myself up for acting so thoughtlessly. So selfishly. All I wanted was to pretend like it never happened, to erase the way her soft lips welcomed mine and how having her body pressed against me felt like the most natural thing in the world. But it was impossible. She’d hijacked my every thought.

Dark half-moons perched atop her cheeks were the first thing I noticed when I swung the door open.
At least I wasn’t the only one who didn’t sleep.
She forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her usually bright eyes, and held out one of the steaming paper cups she was holding in my direction.

“I wasn’t sure how you took it, but you strike me as a guy who likes his coffee black,” she announced as she walked inside, careful that our fingers didn’t touch when she passed the coffee off to me, “but if you don’t like it, I can drink yours too. This stuff is like crack . . . or what I think crack would be like, because I mean, obviously, I’ve never done crack.” She stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to face where I still stood, holding an open door. “Well, close the door, for Pete’s sakes. Do you want your entire hall to listen to me ramble on like an idiot? It’s bad enough I act like this in front of you, but I’d rather not share my foolish behavior with your neighbors too.”

Immediately releasing my hold on the knob and giving the door a gentle shove, I began to move toward her cautiously. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but she was clearly on edge and I didn’t want to upset her more. “Thanks for the coffee,” I said as I brought the piping hot drink to my mouth for a sip. “Black is perfect.”

Another half-smile as she glanced down at her own cup that she was now clutching with both hands, followed by a nervous lick of her lips. Instinctively, my eyes followed the path of her tongue across the plump, delicate flesh, and I groaned internally as my pants abruptly grew snug in the crotch.
This woman is going to be the death of me. I can’t fucking control myself around her.

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” she eventually replied, keeping her stare fixed on the green plastic lid as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other then back again. “I, uh . . . I had this whole speech planned out on my way over here. Stayed up most of the night thinking about what I wanted to say and how to properly express what I’m thinking and feeling, but now that I’m here, it all seems incredibly stupid. I mean, I don’t even really know you . . . I don’t know how what happened yesterday even happened. It doesn’t make any sense at all. I pride myself on the control and restraint I have over my thoughts and my actions. As a public figure, I’m constantly judged on the things I say and do, and if I behave irresponsibly, not only will that reflect poorly on me and my morals and character, but it’ll also affect Colin and Mending Hearts.”

She stopped her rambling to gradually raise her chin, her troubled green eyes seeking out mine as she whispered, “Regardless of how out of control I feel when I’m around you, I can’t afford to lose either of those things. They’re my world. My everything.”

I took a tentative step in her direction, but made sure to leave plenty of space between the two of us. I didn’t want to think about why her control faltered when she was around me. Thinking about that would only lead to more questions that I’d never get answers to. For the preservation of both of our sanity, I had to do the right thing.

“Monroe, it’s okay. I understand,” I assured her softly, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. “You don’t need to explain anything. I told you yesterday that I don’t do that kind of thing either. That’s not who I am, nor is it who I want to be. I wish more than anything I could go back and undo that kiss so that things don’t get awkward between us, but I can’t. It’s done. It’s over. And all we can do is ensure it won’t happen again.”

Pausing for another swallow of the much-needed caffeine, I then continued on, unsure of where the sound and rational words were coming from, but thankful for them nonetheless. “We just need to move forward and focus on our common goal of getting this house ready to be the best it can be for the kids who are gonna live there. We’ve got a little less than six months of working closely together, and even after that, as long as we’re both with Mending Hearts, we’ll still see and talk to each other occasionally. I think we’ve established that whatever happened between us yesterday was a fluky thing. For whatever reason, we both acted impulsively and out of character. It was a one-time thing, and we’re both professional and adult enough to carry on as friendly colleagues. Am I right?”

Monroe nodded and her body visibly relaxed, which in turn made mine do the same. It was as if someone had abruptly flipped the on-switch to an invisible vacuum and sucked nearly all of the tension out of the room in one broad sweep. And although I knew it’d be a constant struggle of my willpower not to think about how amazing that kiss had been every time I looked at her lips, I was relieved at the rapid shift in her demeanor. Her happy made me happy.

“Yeah, I guess you are, but don’t get used to me admitting that kind of thing,” she teased with a bashful grin before lifting the coffee to her mouth for a drink.

I was about to retort something equally as snarky, but it was then that I noticed what was scrawled in black marker across her white paper cup: Rizzo. Glancing down at my own beverage, I saw the name “Sandy D.” staring back at me, and everything I’d just said flew swiftly out the window. What happened between us the day before wasn’t a fluke at all. I was falling for a married woman.

“The truth about

romance is

this: We are

all novels;

our pages stained

with the fingerprints

of either our

lovers

or loneliness.”

–Christopher Poindexter

Monroe

COLIN WAS WRONG.
Oliver was a good guy. A little
too
good if you asked my wounded ego . . . because even though I knew it was the right thing for him to say for both of our sakes, when he admitted that he wished he could go back and undo the best kiss of my life, it was like being kicked in the gut. With a steel-toed boot. By an MMA fighter.

But, like I knew how to do so well, I pushed past the hurt, plastered a smile on my face, and pressed on.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long after our serious—and incredibly awkward—conversation for Oliver to have me laughing and joking around while we set up the dining room table in his apartment as the temporary headquarters for Mending Hearts Boston . . . though the kiss was never far from my thoughts. I did my best to keep plenty of physical space between us by sitting across from him instead of next to him, and I was careful to never allow my gaze to drop to his mouth, afraid I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away from his soft, tempting lips, now that I knew exactly how they felt pressed against mine.

Never before had I struggled with my willpower like I did that day, but by the time lunch rolled around, I’d managed to get my lecherous, immoral thoughts under control, and Oliver and I had developed an effective and efficient method of sorting through the advisor applications. “You about ready to stop for a bite to eat?” I asked, looking up from my laptop. “I’m pretty sure my stomach is planning a mutiny over here.”

“Hold on, one minute. I’m almost done with this email.”

The light of the screen warmed his amber eyes as he typed out the message, and I couldn’t help but allow my gaze to linger on him for a few seconds longer than I should have. His long chocolate curls were tucked behind his ears, begging my fingers to twist in them, and his dark-framed glasses had fallen down on the bridge of his nose, in desperate need for me to reach out and adjust them. So to keep myself from doing either, I abruptly jumped up out of my chair and made a beeline to the kitchen.
For the love of God, Monroe, get ahold of yourself. He already told you that he regretted the kiss. Don’t embarrass yourself anymore.

“I can start getting something ready while you wrap up what you’re working on,” I offered as I opened the refrigerator to peruse our options. Only, when I swung open the door, a cold box of nothingness greeted me. Like absolutely nothing. Not even a beer or random to-go packet of ketchup.

Chuckling, I closed the fridge and turned to open the pantry, only to find it just as bare. “Umm . . . Oliver?”

“Yeah?” he asked absently, still pounding away on the keyboard.

“Why don’t you have any food here?”

“Because cooking for one isn’t much fun,” he laughed and swiveled around to face me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nor do I know where the grocery store is around here, so I’ve just been eating at the deli downstairs and a few of the close-by restaurants.”

I scrunched my nose up with disapproval and shook my head. “But what if you get thirsty in the middle of the night? You don’t even have anything to drink!”

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this cool thing called water? It’s this really great liquid for hydrating. Plus, it’s free with this swanky apartment.” He smirked as he pushed to his feet, slowly swaggering toward where I stood. “And as for lunch, I assumed we’d be ordering delivery or grabbing some to-go food, but if you’d rather we eat here, I can stock up on some things. Just let me know what kind of stuff you like.”

The temperature spiked the instant we were both inside the narrow, galley-style kitchen, and by the grace of God, he stopped a few feet in front of me and jokingly turned the faucet on, pointing at the stream of water with a lopsided grin. “See? Water.”

Desperate to escape the close quarters, I used his bad joke as an excuse to roll my eyes and saunter past him, scooping up my purse and keys off of my makeshift desk. “Come on, funny guy,” I called out over my shoulder, making my way to the door. “We’re going grocery shopping.”