![]() So my brother’s claiming the pussy idea is on hold until I can figure it out. And now I’m waiting for her to message me, because she asked for space. But I didn’t want to screw this up, and she seemed really pissed off. I wanted to do something to make it better, but I had no idea what that something would be, so I did nothing. I’m pretty sure she was on the verge of tears when I left her apartment. I haven’t seen or heard from Stevie since last night. It makes me want to invite him back in, and not for a therapy session. He’s still standing in front of my door, frown fixed in place, looking a whole lot confused. ![]() I listen for the sound of his door, but after a few seconds of silence I give in to the urge to check the peephole. He crosses the threshold, and I let the door fall closed behind him then I turn the lock and secure the chain latch. “I’m going to leave, not because I want to, but because I don’t know what to do or say to make this better, and I don’t want to make it worse.” His rough fingertips barely graze my cheek before his hand falls back to his side. In which case I’ll most definitely lose it in front of him. ![]() I watch his hand lift in my peripheral vision, and for a moment I think he’s going to tip my chin up and force me to look at him. ![]() ![]() Which isn’t great for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that my brother seems to hate him, and he’s also a high-profile NHL player: something I generally try to avoid. I’m realizing now, after that blowout with my brother and Bishop’s current line of questioning, that I might actually be starting to like this guy. ![]()
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