Page 106 of Drunk On Love

But, of course, I was wrong. Somewhere between dawn and sunrise, I attacked him, unable to resist his proximity. And true to form, he delivered me the consequences of my actions with a fervor that left me breathless all over again.

I closed my eyes, a small smile playing on my lips. I was living a dream so beautiful that I wasn’t sure I wanted to wake up. But what I needed, besides Manav’s arms around me, was a gallon of coffee—or maybe something otherworldly to pull me back to reality.

Because this life, this utterly intoxicating and perfect life, felt like it couldn’t possibly be real.

And it wasn’t real.

The pretense was as delicate as glass, a fragile illusion that shattered every time my mind reminded me of the truth. I wasn’t staying. I couldn’t. In just a few days, I’d be leaving for France, chasing my dreams and building my first publishing house there. Everything is almost set, just waiting for me to launch the first step of execution.

I turned to look at Manav, his face relaxed in sleep, his hand draped over my waist like it belonged there. He looked so peaceful, soManav. For a moment, I allowed myself to pretend—to imagine this life, this closeness, this impossible future.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t going to let my heart dictate the future. Because this time, I wasn’t trying to find love. I was trying to findmyself.

____________

I must have drifted off again sometime in the early morning. I vaguely remember Manav kissing my forehead and whispering, “Good morning, cheeseball… I’ll be back soon. Take rest.”

When I finally opened my eyes, rubbing the sleep away, my phone was buzzing on the nightstand. It was Myra calling, but I ignored it, my attention caught by a handwritten note on the pillow next to mine:

Had an early morning meeting, baby. I will be occupied in the basement. Will be back before lunch. Eat breakfast—it’s in the oven.

I couldn’t help but smile as I clutched the note like it was some kind of love letter. Still lying in bed, I picked up my phone and snapped a picture of my sleepy face, wearing his oversized shirt, and sent it to him.

Almost instantly, his reply came:

Manav:It’s going to be very difficult for me to explain to the board why I’m having a hard-on while discussing the benefits of organic pesticides.

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. God, I am so in love with this man.

Me:I’m feeling lazy today. Any way I could manage a shower without lifting a finger?

Manav:Don’t say things like that. I’m this close to leaving in the middle of a signing deal and wrapping it up in the next five minutes.

Me:Just stating facts. Another fact—last night was unforgettable.

Manav:Cheeseball…

Me:Better than my dreams.

Manav:You had dreams?

Me:Very, very sweaty dreams.

Manav:Was I losing my sanity there, too?

Me:Completely.

Manav:If you even step into the shower, I’ll be there before you touch the water.

I couldn’t stop smiling; my heart did all sorts of flips. Just as I reached to put the phone down, it buzzed again. This time, it was Myra.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Myra’s voice was cheerful and teasing.

“Hey… why are you calling me this early?” I yawned, still half-asleep.

“It’s almost noon, sweetie. So, tell me—how many orgasms did you have last night?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Three… plus one… plus one.”