All Chapters of Further to Fall in Love: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

“Yes.” The word leaves my mouth before I have a chance to think about it. Alyson doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react. Her lashes come together in a blink, and she looks at me, almost as if she’swaiting for me to tell her I’m joking.Then she smiles.It’s the most beautiful thing in the world. And right now, with her hands on my chest and my arms locked around her waist, I want to kiss her hard and tell her I’d take her on a thousand dates and it wouldn’t be enough.The moment is over as fast as it started, and I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing I am. She lives in Chicago. I live in Indy. We’re not worlds away, but a four-hour drive makes starting  a relationship hard.I don’t know the next time I’ll be able to get away from work long enough to come see her. It could be weeks before I’m able to drive back up north and take her on a second date.

 I pull Alyson closer, pressing my lips against the side of her neck. I’m half asleep and fighting it. As much as I need sleep, I want to soak up every minute of this as I can. Who knows what the morning will bring. Or even the moment we get out of bed.I kissed Alyson. Felt Alyson.Touched every inch of her. Fucked her. Finally. After years of wanting and waiting for the time to come, it did. I think back to Sam and what he said about idealizing sleeping with Alyson. How there’s no way the real thing could be as good as what I’ve imagined in my mind.He had a good point. Often, when you want something so bad and it’s so out of reach, you romanticize it, make it seem better than it ever can be. I thought that was the case with Alyson.But it couldn’t be further from the truth.There’s no fucking her out of my system. There’s no spending one night with her and being able to move on with my life.

I stretch my arms out in front of me, slowly rolling my wrist. It’s aching today, and I forgot my wrist brace at home. I remembered my posture brace, at least, and stand for the first time  in hours to get it from my bag. My office is warm today from having multiple computers running and my door closed. I found a snag in the software design and have been pulling my hair out all day trying to fix it. I think I’m the only one left in the office. Opening my office door, I twist my hair into a bun and use a pen to secure it on the top of my head. Grabbing the posture brace, I unbutton my blouse and take it off, tossing it in my oversized purse. I’m wearing a sheer white cami underneath, so it’s not like I’m just sitting in here in just a bra. I slip the brace on and sit back at my computer, feeling a bit better to have my shoulders held back into place. As soon as I sit down, nausea I’ve felt all day hits me hard. I get up to get some water, and as soon as I set foo

I’m finishing my last cookie when the stairs creak. At first, I think it’s one of the dogs, but the lack of jingling dog tags lets me know it’s a human. “Oh,” Alyson’s voice comes from behind me. I turn, taking in the sight of her in her pajama shorts and tight tank top. She’s obviously not wearing a bra, and her long, lean legs are hardly covered by the shorts. If she turns around and I see her sweet, supple ass, I’m screwed. “I didn’t know you were down here,” she murmurs. “I couldn’t sleep,” I say, brushing the crumbs from my hands. I’m only in my boxers, not expecting anyone to join me. Alyson lets her eyes linger on my body for a moment before looking away. She smooths out her shirt, pulling the collar up, trying to cover herself, and looks so uncomfortable. “Neither could I,” she admits and opens the fridge, rooting around until  she  finds  a  can of  ginger ale. “Not feeling well?” She pops the top and

“HOW DO YOU DO THIS EVERY DAY?” I FALL INTO A LOUNGE CHAIR, OVER EXAGGERATING MY exhaustion. Though I am dragging, even with sleeping in past ten this morning. Wes shrugs, a slight smile on his face as he watches his son run around the yard with the dogs. “You just do.” “You’re like a superhero. Literally. Saving lives as a cop and rocking the whole single-parent thing.” He bypasses the compliment. “Keep your shoes on, buddy!” he shouts to Jackson. “He’s going through a barefoot phase right now.” “Better than his bare-butt phase when he wouldn’t wear pants.” Wes laughs, adjusting his gun on his belt before sitting on a chair next to me. He’s on his lunch break, and came by for a homemade meal and to see Jackson. “You do know the crime is really low here, don’t you? Or have you been away so long you forgot? I’m not saving lives in Eastwood.” I shoot him a look, trying desperately hard to ignore the sick feeling in my sto