“I admire him.”
I smile.
“He’s one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.” He smiles wistfully. “I just like being around him. He’s intelligent and strong.” He shrugs. “I can’t explain it, really.”
“Okay,” I concede.
He falls silent for a while. “But . . . you’re right.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ll do this course, and then we’ll leave Barcelona for good on Sunday.”
I smile sadly, already dreading saying goodbye to Eddie. “Is it wrong of me to say this?” I ask him.
“No, you’re right. I need to get on with it.”
His phone beeps with a text in the other room, and he frowns. “Jameson.”
“What?”
“That’s a text from Jameson. My oldest brother.”
“How do you know?”
“I have a different ringtone for all my brothers.” He gets out of the bath and goes to retrieve his phone and walks back into the bathroom reading the text, and then he smiles broadly. “Fuck yeah.”
“What?”
He passes the phone to me, and I read the message.
I booked you another four nights at the hotel.
Happy Birthday.
Jay, x
My mouth falls open. “It’s your birthday?”
He chuckles. “I guess it is.”
Four days, four heavenly nights.
This has been the best week of my life.
Sun, laughter, luxury hotel, and Christopher Miles. As if the universe knew we needed this time alone, it delivered.
With every day, every hour . . . every minute, I’ve slipped more and more under his spell. With every breath, fallen just that little bit harder.
With no distractions and being left utterly alone, we’ve bonded in a way I didn’t even know was possible. Sexually, mentally . . . intimately.
So, so close.
It’s our last night in our ritzy hotel room. Christopher starts his bar course tomorrow, and in three days, we leave Spain forever for Germany. I’m excited for what’s to come for us, because so far, our story is incredible.
The television is on softly in the background, and we are lying in bed. My bedside lamp is on, and the rest of the room is in filtered darkness. I have my book in my hand, and Christopher is lying the other way, his head near my feet, perched up on his elbow, staring at me. His finger is trailing up and down my leg as he lies seemingly deep in thought.
“A penny for your thoughts?” I ask.
He smiles softly, his eyes fixed on his fingers as they roam over my skin. “I’m just wondering how it is that the more I have you . . . the more I want you.”
We stare at each other in the darkness.
“Is it always like this?” He frowns. “Is this”—he gestures to the air between us—“normal?”
“No,” I reply without hesitation. “This is not normal. This is . . . special.”
He falls silent again, and I can see his brain ticking a million miles per minute. He has questions. This relationship stuff is all so new for him. “And?” I prompt him. “Ask me anything.”
“Your boyfriend . . .”
“You’re my boyfriend,” I correct him.