He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I mean… Jesus, I almost committed a crime.”
“You’re only a couple of years older than me,” I argue.
“I’ll be twenty-four next year, Olivia.” He rubs the back of his neck. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
“So, what? I’m supposed to apologize because we didn’t exchange birth records?” I say indignantly and leave the bed, heading toward the bathroom. “You won’t take this away from me.”
He is crazy if he thinks I’m going to apologize for what happened. My heart breaks a little. Not because I’m in love with him. Let’s get real. This wasn’t about love. It was about a boy and a girl who met and are attracted to each other. This felt right to me. I know there’s someone out there for me, but I’m sure I won’t find him at this age. And it’s not Eros Zephier, or whatever his middle name is.
Eros might regret this day, but for me, it’ll be a fond memory. I’ll just erase the last few minutes.
I enter the shower, and he’s right behind me.
“So, when you said ‘died a virgin,’ you weren’t exaggerating like the rest of the stuff you said in the airport, were you?”
“Go away,” I order. I’m glad I’m washing my hair and my eyes are closed. He can’t see my red face and the anger that’s brewing through my veins.
“I’m sorry. I overreacted.” His voice is soft.
Rinsing my hair and removing the excess water on my face with my hands, I finally look at him.
“You’re sorry, but you regret it.”
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the tile wall. “I should know better. I should’ve been more careful with you.”
“It was my choice too,” I argue. “I’m not a kid. It’s like I have to convince everyone that I’m an adult.”
When he opens his eyes, he looks at me like I’m a kid. “Being an adult isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. It’s more than choosing where to live, having sex, or eating ice cream for breakfast. All of those are choices. Choices you need to make thinking about the consequences. That’s the bottom line. When you’re a kid, you learn there are consequences, but you get a pass. Once you’re on your own, you have to confront them. You live with them for the rest of your life.”
“Another fancy way to call me a child.”
He kisses my cheek. “No, just advice from a stranger that will remember you fondly.”
“If I was older?”
“What’s the question, Olivia?”
“If I was twenty-three or twenty-four”—I lick my lips—“would this be different?”
He shrugs. “I guess we’ll never know.”
Something is missing in this conversation. I feel like the story is incomplete. There’s no closure. Or is this the kind of situation where there’s no need for an ending? It was just a moment, and it’s over? I have so many questions that I’m sure will never be answered by him. Maybe it’s time and maturity. I’ll find them in a few years.
It’s not like I was hoping that this would go somewhere. He’s the one who said, “I wish you were closer. Where are you going to be next?” Well, not with those words, but I feel like that’s where the conversation was heading. To a place where two people about the same age were making the grownup decision to place a semicolon at the end of an unforgettable time they shared together.
He wouldn’t do it with me. Me. I’m just a kid to him.
“You didn’t need a fancy way to say goodbye,” I state bitterly as I scrub my body with anger.
“Who knows?”
“Are we exchanging numbers?” I ask, rinsing my body.
“No.”
“Then it’s goodbye. Period!”
“Maybe I’ll see you one day on the street. We’ll have a cup of coffee. You’ll tell me about your amazing life, how you found your soulmate, and leave again. You’ll be like this big wave that crashes against the shore once or twice in a lifetime.”
I turn off the water. He hands me a towel. He’s still all nice and gentlemanly, even when he’s telling me we’ll never see each other again.
As I dry my body, I ask, “How about you? What will you tell me?”
“That I’m on top of the financial world. I probably have a wife, a couple of kids. Maybe I’m single. You believe that the future is already written. I think every decision changes the path we walk. I hope that whatever I tell you is good news.”
Heading back into the room, I find my clothes, get dressed, and walk again toward him. I push myself on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Even if I never see you again, I’ll never forget you.”
Chapter Seven
Olivia
I regret not going back to my hotel room to change.
It’s blazing hot. Dad and Dan weren’t kidding when they said New York summers suck. I thought it was a way to keep me in California.
The asphalt is melting. My shoes are about to catch fire.
What was I thinking when I said, “I’ll drop the bags and head to my meeting. I look ready for an interview.”?
There’s a vast difference between summer in San Francisco and summer in New York. It’s like night and day—like Antarctica and hell.
The last time I was in New York City, there was a blizzard. I can’t believe it’s been more than three years since that happened. As I cross the street toward the coffee place where I agreed to meet Dad, I wonder if Eros still lives here.
While the taxi was driving on Park Avenue, I spotted the building where he lived. I still remember the morning when we headed silently to the airport. There was this awkward goodbye. I wish we had hugged. In retrospect, he was right. We should’ve exchanged more than family anecdotes and philosophical views before jumping into bed.
What can I say? I was young and inexperienced. I still don’t regret sharing my first time with him. If it hadn’t been Eros, it could’ve been some other guy who didn’t know how to kiss or be kind and gentle. I’m one of the few who can say my first time was perfect.
“Olivia?” The deep, sexy voice makes my toes curl.
When I look up, a pair of espresso-colored eyes stare at me.
“Eros.” My lips curl up in a smile. “What a surprise.”
Studying him, I notice he’s changed. He wears a pinstripe suit, a blue tie, and dress shoes. He’s as tall as I remember. His sculpted features look more… male.
“What a surprise,” he says, bending and hugging me. “I was just thinking about you earlier today.”
“The psycho girl who got in your pants,” I joke and wink at him.
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry about my overreaction.”
“How are you?” I ask. “Rich, married, and with children?”
He scrubs his face with a hand, checks his watch, and glances at the coffee place. “Do you have time for coffee?”
“If you buy me an iced tea, I might spend a few minutes with you,” I joke, then I point at his suit. “How can you wear that when it’s scorching hot out here?”