Page 58 of Rising Heat

You’ve been in Boston a month and your hottest relationship is with a candle.

I look at the flickering white sage on the table.

Darcy

It’s a very nice candle.

Bex

Okay. Real question…

Bex

When’s the last time someone made you forget your own name or scream theirs?

I actually choke on my tea. I cough, laughing despite myself, and set the mug down before I spill it all over the blanket.

Darcy

Jesus Christ.

Bex

That is not an answer, and if it is, it’s worse than I thought.

I stare at the screen.

She’s not wrong. It’s been long enough that even thinking about answering makes me feel faintly pathetic. It’s not that I miss having a boyfriend or that I’m lonely. I like being on my own.

I miss attraction that didn’t come attached to expectations or negotiations or the feeling that I was somehow getting it wrong. Good sex—sex that doesn’t feel like a performance or a compromise—has become such a distant memory it almost feels theoretical.

Darcy

I’m not having this conversation with you.

Bex

Which just further confirms that it’s been WAY too long…

I drop my head back against the couch cushion.

Darcy

Please get a hobby.

Bex

This is my hobby.

Bex

Also, if you’re not going to hook up with one of the hot brothers downstairs, or literally anyone else, you need to stop hiding in your apartment.

Darcy

I’m not hiding, I’m nesting.

Bex