Not today.
I crawl out of bed and notice my clothes are folded on top of his dresser, my phone placed beside the folded pile. Brows furrowed, I go to the clothes and pick them up.
I glance at the door that’s halfway open, then at my clothes again, deciding to get dressed before going out. After I finish putting on clothes, I open the Uber app to book one because I feel like I’m going to need it.
When I leave the bedroom, I spot Torres standing in the kitchen drinking coffee from a BU mug. He notices me coming around the corner and, in an instant, I notice that the light that was in his eyes the day before has faded.
He’s clearly been thinking about something, and I’m sure it isn’t something that works in the favor of both of us.
“Morning,” I murmur as I approach him.
“Morning.” He smiles, but it seems forced. “Coffee?”
“Uh…no, I think I’m good.” I shift on my feet as he places his coffee mug down on the countertop across from him.
“Any good news overnight, perhaps?” I ask, smiling.
He huffs a laugh, sliding the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his shorts. He’s shirtless again, and his muscles flex with the movement. “If only,” he sighs, and his eyes leave mine again. He stares at the wall across from him, at the backsplash above the sink.
“Yeah. If only.” I look past him, at the door. “Well, I…uh…I know you have a lot to do today so I think I’m going to head back to my place.”
“You sure? You hungry? Want anything?”
“No, it’s okay. I have food at my place.” Why does this feel so weird? After such an intense night last night, it shouldn’t feel like this. There’s this…this strain that I don’t like right now. There’s guilt in his eyes and he feels so…distant.
My phone chimes and I take it out, reading the notification that my Uber driver is arriving.
I ignore all the feelings churning inside me and step in front of him. Leaning on my toes, I kiss his cheek, a hand pressed to his warm chest, and he sighs.
“I hope to see you later,” I murmur.
I find his eyes, but his don’t find mine. He’s staring down at the floor now.
“Torres?” I call, glad my voice doesn’t break.
“Go on to your apartment, Lakes.” His sentence isn’t harsh or demanding, but it cuts me in a way that I feel it shouldn’t.
I step back, looking at him all over. Not once does he look me in the eyes.
To spare myself any more grief, I pull away. “I’ll see you later.” I say the words hurriedly as I rush for the door.
Unlocking it quickly, I twist the doorknob and walk out, and when I look back, Torres has pushed off the counter and is watching me go.
His lips part, like he has something to say, but then it clamps shut and his gaze drops again.
I close the door and walk away.
On my way to my apartment, I can’t get what happened out of my head. I bite one of my fingernails and stare out of the window, feeling a loss.
Maybe he just needs time alone to think. This is a big deal and I’m a distraction.
I can give him time. I have to.
With that in mind as I enter my apartment, I take a shower and decide to take a nap. When I wake up, I check my phone, eager for a text from him, but there isn’t a single notification.
I toss my phone to the foot of the bed and climb out of it, going to the kitchen to dump Froot Loops and milk into a bowl and eating it while watching a documentary on Netflix on my laptop. I’m hoping this will distract me, but it’s useless. Every five minutes I’m checking my phone, hoping for a call or a text from Torres.
Nothing comes in all day or night.
He needs time and I get that. I have to respect it, so I sleep again, ready for this day to be over with already and hoping tomorrow is a better one.
Only, it isn’t better. I wake up, and still no calls or text from Torres. I do, however, have an email from Hamilton who is asking me to come in and fill in a few forms.
I lower my phone, and something in the corner of the room catches my eye. The dragon I won from the carnival. I stare at it a long time, remember what that dragon led to. Games and dares and kissing.
I close my eyes, fighting the burn in them, and then push to a stand to get dressed.
After filling out a few forms for Hamilton, I go by Torres’ office and it is completely empty. The wooden desk has been cleared, the black rolling chair neatly tucked beneath it. Not even a sheet of paper is left behind. It’s like he was never even here.