Page 67 of First in Line

Behind him, the sky is getting darker. The sun crossed over while we were busy, and night is slowly enveloping us.

I can’t believe we just did that.

When I agreed to come with him for a drive, I never expected it to lead to anything like this. Or maybe I subconsciously did, and some part of me knew exactly how this evening would go.

Still, I feel whiplashed by the turn of events. I just let him finger me on the hood of his car, like we’re impulsive teenagers again. But we’re not. We’re grown adults. And my life is here, in Colorado, while his is in Europe—and all over the world. The fact that he can make me come twice in under five minutes doesn’t change that reality.

I don’t know if it’s the clarity that comes after a good orgasm, but I somehow see it all clearly. I see where this will lead, and I’m not sure this is a path I want to take. Not again.

We will fool around for a bit, fall back in love, plan a future together… But then he’ll never be here, and we’ll start missing one another despite our efforts to spend time together, and I’ll be worried every time he has a race because of how dangerous his job can be.

Then we’ll start fighting about it, because that’s what we do, and I’ll feel guilty for wanting him to make me his priority when I know how important his career is to him. So, I’ll stop complaining altogether because I don’t want to force him to choose between me and racing.

Maybe because I’m afraid he won’t choose me. Maybe because he might choose me and resent me for killing his dream.

And I’ll feel miserable because of it all, only to be the one resenting him for not noticing, for not fixing us.

We’ve been there. We’ve done that whole dance before. And the outcome nearly broke me.

When he bends over, leaning onto the hood to kiss me, I’ve sobered up. There’s nothing left of the pleasure but a distant echo. This won’t lead to anything good. Aside fromphysicallygood, that is.

My response to his kiss isn’t as fervent as it was earlier, and he notices. “Everything alright?” he asks, pulling himself up.

I straighten up until I’m not leaning on the car and avoid his gaze as I fasten my pants.

“What’s going on, Evie? Talk to me.”

“Nothing, I—I just remembered I have some things I need to prepare for work tomorrow. Can you drive me back home?”

He doesn’t answer right away, jaw tight as he looks down at me. “What things?”

The question takes me by surprise, and I can’t think of anything to say other than, “Stuff for a client.”

“What ‘stuff,’ Evangeline?”

“I need to rework the kitchen arrangement,” I invent. “They don’t like the one I came up with.”

“You were always such a terrible liar.”

His refusal to let it go frustrates me. “What do you want me to say, Jax? That this was a mistake, and I want to go home now?”

“Honestly? Yes. The truth will always be better than a lie.”

“Sorry for trying to protect your feelings.”

“I don’t give a fuck about my feelings. Don’t lie to me, Evie. You can lie to anyone else, even to yourself, but not to me. Not to your husband.”

“You’re not my husband!” I protest.

“But I am.”

“On paper, yes. But not in the way that matters. Not for seven years.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t let me!” he practically shouts. “Because you ‘needed a break’ and never came back!”

There. The guilt I thought I’d feel earlier, when we were kissing, is now gnawing at my insides. My skin crawls with it, and I cross my arms in an attempt to lessen the unpleasant sensation.

“Did you know?” he asks, his voice steadier.