Was it learning the many facets of Chase and what each version of him means to me?
Was it knowing how perfect it feels to be held in his arms all night?
Was it his infuriating but sweet concern for my safety and happiness?
Was it knowing that it was Chase who stayed up all night texting with me every night for a week after Nanna died?
Whatever it was that dealt the final blow, it’s happened. I’ve fallen in love with him.
I wish I could say this is a happy realization. It isn’t, even while I’m being kissed silly by the object of my adoration.
It has heartbreak typed all over it.
We’re both panting as he pulls back, as if gauging my reaction.
“I’ve told you the truth now,” he says in a velvet whisper.
“And you said once you told me the truth, you’d very agreeably fuck me like I asked,” I say archly. My vagina, damn traitor, is already all on board.
“Make love,” he corrects. “If you still want me.”
I want him.
But the small, certain core of me, that inner voice to which I’ve learned to listen, isn’t so certain. Before I knew I loved him, before I knew that the out-of-reach celebrity I wanted to have one fabulous night with was the same guy I’d spent my days and nights writing to for years, I thought I could give him my virginity and then go back to my regular life.
But now, I’m sure that just one night would never be enough, and reaching heaven and then having it yanked away would break me.
He’s so worried about a few trolls and photographers hurting me, when he has far greater power to devastate me than any stranger.
But maybe there’s hope. Perhaps the lies were the final barrier, and now we can finally be together and see where it leads.
“I need to know first. Is this very generous offer of sex for just one night? Or are you telling me we can be together, date?”
“I don’t date,” he hedges, which, in my current frame of mind, pisses me off.
“Hang out. Friends with benefits. Be my boyfriend. Whatever you want to call it. Are you willing to give this thing a try, or are you just offering your dick for the night?”
He flinches.
And I see it in his face. I do. Even after all this, after all the secret sharing, the intimacy, the truth-telling, he still only wants to give me a small, temporary part of him.
And, I realize, that’s just not enough for me. Not anymore.
So, this is it. One last try to reach him. One last truth-telling. And that’s it.
“You know, Chase. I learned a lot since Nanna encouraged me to start taking risks. I never thought I could go for what I want. I was always too scared to show anyone who I really was, tell them my needs and my desires. And a big part of that growth is from you. You as Chase and you as Remington. I won’t ever forget any of who you’ve been to me. But I just realized that I deserve more than a fantasy crush or long-distance friend. I want a real relationship. I want to love and be loved for who I really am, and to give the same back to someone else.”
I take a deep breath, then forge ahead. “So, this is my final risk, Chase. And news flash, it’s not to lose my virginity.”
He watches me, waiting.
“I love you,” I say. “I love you, Chase James, and I love you, Remington.” I’m balancing on a live wire, but my voice comes out surprisingly steady. “I want to be with you for more than just a night or two. I know it’s not what I’ve been saying, but you’re right. I do deserve more. I deserve you, all of you.”
His eyes flare. He doesn’t say anything, just looks away.
I let the words hang in the air.
“Olivia,” Chase says, “you don’t know what you’re asking. I don’t know how to be in a relationship. To love. I’ve never known the kind of life you deserve. I didn’t see any of that growing up. I’d only hurt you. I don’t have what you really want.”
I swallow back the tears and attempt to breathe past the ache in my chest.
“You’re not just afraid of hurting me. You’ve come up with all these reasons why we can’t be together. But I think the real reason is because you’re afraid. It’s safer to stay in your VIP life behind velvet ropes, to never take a chance on something real.”
He doesn’t answer. Not then or when I turn and walk out of the cottage.
That’s when the tears do start. I cry all the way through packing. All the way to the airport. And the entire flight to San Francisco.
I’m traveling light on the outside, with just a backpack and a purse.