Illicit ✔

thirty

♫ Oh, baby, where are you now when I need you most?
I'd give it all just to hold you close
Sorry that I broke your heart, your heart ♪
(The Weeknd—After Hours)

Still on her stool—as luck had it, she'd only imagined herself falling off—Coralie clutched her glass so tight she expected it to explode. For shards to tear through her palms and rip into her veins and unleash the utter mess of emotions swirling inside her.

Ryan is living in New York?

It shouldn't have bothered her. New York was huge, with so many neighborhoods and boroughs and buildings. She wouldn't ram into him often, if ever. The chances of them having to see each other were slim.

And yet... she had seen him, a few days prior, steps away from her office, in front of the coffee shop she loved. So if he was to work in the same district, to live in the same district, would she ever be able to avoid him?

"Cora," he said, his stern but suave voice anchoring her back in reality. "Are you okay?"

Her mouth opened to say yes, and her mind wanted her to say no; but all that came out was a jumbled mix of words that made no sense. A whirlwind of sounds and grunts and sniffles that prompted her to drain half her drink and choke on the bubbles as they washed down her throat.

She'd been so close to figuring herself out, to putting some much-needed order into her life. The job of her dreams had fallen into her lap, and she'd moved across the country to pursue it. She'd rekindled friendships she'd abandoned after her dreary relationship with Jayden and grown closer to Delilah and Bella. And she'd stumbled upon a man with good intentions, one who spoiled her and cared for her despite her past. And though Michael lived far, they'd maintained a rhythm, they talked daily, and let their spark progress into a flame.

But this man? This hunk in a baby-blue suit, with electrifying eyes and a body from the heavens? This inhuman creature that she'd always wanted, fantasized over countless times over twelve years? He was there. Sitting beside her, head cocked in curiosity, lips parted in anticipation for whatever she was about to say.

And he was single. Available. At long last, he was accessible.

But she was not.

"Cora." He looked at his hands clasped atop his thighs. He was fidgeting, flighty, possibly nervous. "Forgive me, but I... I have to ask this." His fingers brushed over hers, and she didn't have a chance to move before he entwined them, locking her in place. "Is it too late for us? Again?"

Her jaw dropped, but before she could belch out a string of curses, before she could slap him for daring to imply there had been an "us", he squeezed her hand.

"Is there any way I can fix how we left things? How I left things?" He tipped his chin up, and though she'd expected to see a playful glow on his cheeks, a flirtatious flicker of his tongue, a glimmer of lust in his eyes, she didn't. His gaze was focused, watery; packed with so many repressed sentiments, she had no idea how to react. He was serious. "I'm in the process of divorcing, arranging visits to London to meet with my daughters... so I'm an absolute mess. It killed me to choose Gemma over you, but then she didn't choose me. You... you are the only thing that's kept me sane these past few months."