IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(64)

My grin deepened and I turned my head into the pillow, inhaling deep so that his scent filled me from the inside out. I would live in that smell forever if I could.

A chirp sounded from somewhere nearby and I realized it was my phone. I slipped from the bed and stumbled around the room until I found my pants, pulling my cell free. It had been a text from my mother, checking in.

I thumbed open the messages app, intending to send her a quick note that all was well. But my fingers hesitated when I saw the conversation listed below hers.

Trace.

My stomach dropped.

It was time to stop ignoring him.

I thought for a moment before typing up what I wanted to say.

Conor: You were right to suggest a break. I was looking for something you couldn’t give me. But I think I found what I want and need with someone else.





I smiled, thinking of Wells. I’d have gotten lost in the thought if it hadn’t been for his cell phone vibrating against the bedside table, distracting me. I focused back on my texts to Trace.

Conor: I want you to know that you were exactly what I needed at the time. I’m glad I accidentally texted you and that you responded. You helped me through a difficult time and I will always be grateful for that. Thank you for everything. But it is time I moved on.





Wells’s phone vibrated again and I glanced toward it, wondering if maybe it was something important. I quickly typed up the last text and hit Send.

Conor: Good luck and I hope you find what you’re looking for in life.





Almost instantly Wells’s phone vibrated. Something hollow began burrowing through my chest. Thoughts began churning at the edge of my mind, whispering suspicions that seemed too absurd to be true.

And yet… I couldn’t shake the doubt that suddenly gripped me.

My fingers tightened around my phone. I realized my hand was trembling. Slowly, carefully, I stood and moved around the bed until I could get a clear view of Wells’s phone.

There were three alerts. Three texts.

The last one read:

NotSam: Good luck and I hope you find what you’re looking for in life.





I let out a cry of alarm and stumbled back.

My mind was a shock of white static, my entire body on fire with the feeling of betrayal.

From the bathroom I heard the sink turn on and the unmistakable sound of Wells brushing his teeth.

Soon he’d finish. And he’d walk into the bedroom. And I would have to face him. Knowing the truth.

Panic gripped me. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

I scrambled for my clothes, yanking them on without checking to make sure they were right side out. It didn’t matter, I didn’t care. All that mattered was getting out of here. Leaving before Wells walked out of that bathroom.





24





Wells





I stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was disheveled, my lips still swollen from Conor’s greedy kisses the night before. The perpetual scowl that normally pinched the skin between my eyebrows was gone, and I sported the most ridiculous grin ever.

Anyone who set eyes on me would immediately know I’d gotten laid last night. But it was more than that. I’d had plenty of sex in my life, and it had never left me looking like this. Feeling like this.

This… contentment, excitement. This sense of a puzzle piece finally settling into place was new.

It was Conor.

I glanced toward the door. Knowing he was just on the other side, still wrapped in my sheets, made me eager to get back to him. I’d call Deb and tell her to push my morning meetings, and I’d spend the time with Conor instead.

We’d start in bed, finishing what I’d initiated when we’d woken up. I’d take my time with him, showing him with my body how I felt about him. How much I wanted to be with him.

How much I needed him.

After that… I didn’t know. The last time I’d been in a relationship with a man had been Mark and it had just happened. We’d been friends then housemates and then business partners—it had been easy to add being lovers into the mix.

There hadn’t been any obstacles like my job, like Conor’s business, and his mom.

Like the secret I was still keeping from him.

I fisted my hands against the bathroom counter. The muscle along my jaw in my reflection ticked, the scowl reappearing between my eyes.

I had to tell him. Before anything else. Before I touched him, before I asked him to cancel his flight and stay longer, before we crossed the bridge of how to navigate a potential relationship.

He had to know the truth. He had to have the option to leave me. Or, hopefully, forgive me.

My fingers trembled as I wet them in the sink and ran them through my hair, trying to bring some order to the wavy mess. I was stalling. I knew it. Another one of my father’s favorite John Wayne quotes came to mind. “Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” Taking a deep breath, I straightened. Gave myself a silent nod of encouragement. And stepped into the bedroom.

The bed was empty, the sheets cast aside in a tangled heap. I swiveled around, wondering where he’d gone. “Conor?” There was no response.

I pushed out of the master into the living room, wondering if he’d gone to the kitchen in search of breakfast. But both of those rooms were empty as well. “Conor?” I called, louder. My heart began hammering in my chest and my breathing shallowed.