Page 35 of Arden

Fuck, I had to get away from Willow.

When I first woke up and realized I had my arms around her and, worse yet, was rubbing her back, I immediately stopped. I dropped my arms to my sides at lightning speed, but she was still straddling me.

I liked that a little too much.

But then she came to her senses and scrambled off of me. I tried to take it in stride. She was so worried and apologetic, so I handled it with humor.

I thought I was okay, too, but then it struck me how badly I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her once again, right then and there.

I knew then that I had to go.

I obviously like Willowfartoo much.

That’s why I couldn’t stay for breakfast, as much as I wanted to.

It’s the first time we parted that we didn’t make a plan to get back in touch later in the day or real soon.

I know we will see each other again, but I think we need some time apart first.

I know I do.

That much was clear when I walked in my house and made a beeline up to the shower. I had to get her sweet scent off of me. She was in my head too. So much so that I beat off under the pulsing hot water—not once but twice.

The things I wish I could do to Willow. I’d make her feel so fucking good. She’d scream out my name and beg for more.

And I’d accommodate her.

“Fuck, I want that woman,” I growl as I stomp around the house.

Yeah, I definitely need some time to myself.

So, as much as I want to contact Willow, I don’t for the rest of the day. I do call Nils, and we decide to skate and lift weights tomorrow morning at the practice facility. I suggest we also grab lunch.

He’s up for that.

Good. I need to stay busy so I don’t cave and call or text the girl next door.

It’s hard to do something against everything your head—and okay, yeah, your heart—is screaming for you to do.

But I know this is for the best.

We just need to back off a little.

We’re together too much, and it’s bringing up all kinds of crazy feelings.

I think Willow agrees, as there are no attempts from her to contact me at anytime throughout the day.

Still, I keep hoping that she does.

Yeah, a part of me—and it’s a big part—wants to say “Fuck it. Whatever happens, happens.”

Even at night, when I’m in my bed, ready to fall asleep, I check my phone one last time, hoping to have heard from her.

But there’s nothing.

Usually one of us will send a “good night” text, but that’s not happening today.

For all my big talk about wanting to stay away, not hearing from her at all irritates me.