Page 39 of Please Don’t Go (The Midnight Strike #1)

JOSEFINE

Bryson: Please just think about it

Bryson: I miss you Josie

Bryson: I want you back

And blocked.

I don’t know why I didn’t do that sooner. Maybe because he stopped texting me for a while and I thought I’d be dead, so I didn’t see a point in blocking his number.

Tossing my phone on my nightstand, I let myself fall back on my bed.

I don’t understand why he all of a sudden has found me interesting again, but I wish he didn’t.

Bryson found me as I was making my way back to Vienna after talking to Daniel. Apparently and unfortunately, he was looking for me. I attempted to walk away, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Even my silence wasn’t enough to get him to leave me alone.

I relented only because he said he would if I listened. That was a mistake because what he said to me in the text messages is what he told me in person. Along with unnecessary comments that aren’t worth thinking about.

Though it’s easy to forget about him, not only because he’s that forgettable, but because I can’t stop thinking about Daniel and how dismissive he was towards me.

Next time my brain screams at me no, I’ll listen to her because why did I think he’d care to see me? I can’t believe for a moment I thought he looked relieved.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I roll onto my stomach and sink my face into the duvet, until I can’t breathe.

I’m in the middle of self-loathing when I hear heavy footsteps climbing up the stairs. I twist onto my back, hating the eager way my heart wallops. It’s pathetic, really, my body buzzing knowing that he’s home. Especially after what he said. It wasn’t bad, but it stung nonetheless.

His footsteps grow closer and just when I think I’ll hear his door shut, I hear a knock on mine. “Josie.”

I don’t make a sound or a move. It’s childish to ignore him, but I really don’t want to talk to him right now.

“I know you’re awake.”

Not sure how he would know that, but I still ignore him and stay silent.

“Your light,” he explains as if he could hear my thoughts.

Right, dammit. “Good night.”

“I’m sorry.” I hear a thump against my door followed by a heaved sigh. “I didn’t mean to be short with you. I was…I’m sorry. Can we talk?”

“It’s late. I have a lesson in the morning and I still have to shower.”

“I’ll make it quick. I promise,” he begs.

His mournful voice almost gets me to concede, but I shake my head and sharply say, “Don’t want to talk to you.”

I hear his footsteps recede into his room along with faint shuffling. I figure he’s going to leave me alone until I hear a rustle beneath my door. My attempt to ignore whatever that is is abysmal as the corner of my eye catches onto pale yellow on the floor, making me do a double take.

A Post-it note lays on the floor with black ink on it. As quietly as I can, I grab it and read what it says.

I’m sorry Josefine!

“Daniel,” I grumble but my lips appallingly tilt up. “I told you?—”

Another Post-it note is slipped underneath my door.

I’m not talking. I’m communicating with you. They don’t mean the same thing

“I still don’t?—”

And another.

I’m sorry for being an asshole!

“How many of these do you have?”

Tons! I can do this all night

“I thought it was a long and busy day? Aren’t you tired?” I repeat what he said to me earlier.

Never for you. I’m sorry about earlier. I promise I was on my way to find you, but my parents found me. Then I almost got into it with my dad. I’m sorry for being an asshole.

He was looking for me? I want to ask just to make sure I heard that right, but I don’t.

“Yeah, you were an asshole,” I mutter, dropping to the floor and sitting next to the door. I hear noise on the other side and I’m certain he’s doing the same thing followed by a chuckle.

You’re not supposed to agree with me

“Just repeating what you said.”

Can I talk now?

I can’t stop myself from smiling. “No, I like you like this.”

He chuckles again.

Does this mean I’m forgiven?

“Let me think about it…” My voice carries a slight tease until I think about the email and his parents. “Do you want to talk about the email and your parents?”

No.

He quickly slips the Post-it under the door and then another.

I really don’t want to talk about either

I rest my head against the door. “You know, I see you. You can act like whatever you feel doesn’t matter, but it does.” I have no idea where that came from, but it only encourages me to keep going.

For a long moment I don’t hear anything or get a note from him.

“Garcia, you there?” I sit on my knees, my hand reaching for the doorknob until another Post-it is slipped underneath.

I really need you.

My breath catches.

I’ve never been someone who anyone needs and I almost wonder if this is a ploy to get me to come outside. But his handwriting is rushed, the ink seeps into the back of the paper, and the lines are indented from how heavy he was holding the pen. The other Post-its don’t look and feel like this.

He needs me .

Daniel’s going to regret this. I know he is, but regardless of my conflicting feelings and the voice in my head saying I’m going to fuck this up, I open the door.

He’s sitting on the other side, his gaze lost, but when his eyes find mine, I swear I see every morsel of sadness and tension on his face and body dissolve. He looks…genuinely happy and relieved to see me.

A small, devastating, crooked smile curls on his face as he scribbles something. I quickly rake my gaze over him, taking in his uniform, chain with the safety pin, and hat. He looks good…really, really good.

This isn’t the time to gawk!

He holds the note up for me to read.

I’m so happy you’re here!

On my knees, I scoot closer to him and before I can talk myself out of it, I circle my arms around his shoulders. I think I caught him by surprise because he momentarily tenses but then his body goes slack against mine and he wraps his arms around my waist.

I feel his heart race against my chest, or is it mine?

I’m not sure, I can’t tell, and I don’t want to let myself think because this is already too much.

Surely, he’ll realize this is a mistake or at least I keep thinking he will but seconds tick by and he continues to hold me like I’m his lifeline.

“I needed this. I needed you ,” he murmurs against my chest, the deep rasp of his voice vibrating against me.

The wick in my heart lights back up, easily and instantaneously, almost as if it had never been out. I hate that I let it happen and most of all hate how the single flame warms my entire body.

It sends ripples of heat throughout, slowly spreading like a wildfire but not hot enough to incinerate me, just warm enough I feel a little…alive.

My throat dries, making it hard to swallow, but that’s the least of my worries because my heart pounds against my chest, the blood rushing too loud in my ears, making it challenging to listen to the other murmured words leaving his lips.

“It’s just a hug,” I heedlessly reply.

“A hug that came from you. This is all I wanted.”

I wish I could stop my body from reacting.

“Maybe what you need is to talk about it,” I say in hopes it’ll distract my racing thoughts and heart.

“I really don’t?—”

“I don’t get you.” I cut him off and pull back, letting my arms dangle around his shoulders.

He tips his head back to stare up at me and keeps his arms firmly around me. “What don’t you get?”

A warning flashes in my head to draw away, far away because we’re too close. My lips are just an inch away from his, and our bodies are tangled in a position that isn’t deemed appropriate for people who are just friends .

“How you think it’s okay to prioritize my feelings but disregard your own.”

His brows pinch together, lips parted, but nothing leaves his mouth. He stares like he’s speechless, shocked, and anxious all at once.

“They matter too, you know.” I cradle his cheek, gently caressing it with the pad of my thumb. “ You matter, Daniel.”

A haunted look takes over his eyes before they get washed away with sadness. It lingers like it’s letting itself be seen. Like it’s asking for help and doesn’t know how.

I feel his chest expand against me and he thickly swallows. His fingers dig into my sides, like he’s holding on to me, and I let him. I shift closer to him, letting him use me as an anchor.

“Don’t hide,” I softly say, letting those two words seep in our bubble and hoping he’s absorbing them, hearing them, feeling them. “I’m right here.”

A muscle in his jaw works before his eyes cast down as if he were embarrassed. Or maybe I’ve said something wrong.

“I’m sorry if that came off brash. I’m not good at this kind of thing. Maybe you should look up a therapist. I hear they’re good at this kind of thing.”

That gets him to lift his head and smile. I even get a soft snicker to squeeze past his lips. “That wasn’t—who made you think this way?”

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I tend to come off cold, so if?—”

“You’ve never come off cold, and you said nothing wrong. I’m the one with issues. I struggle to talk about myself.”

I scoff, dropping my hand from his cheek and placing it back around his shoulder. “You’re the one with issues? Have you met me? I’m a walking issue. And that makes two of us because I hate talking about myself.”

“You’re not a walking issue.” He brightens. “You know, I really like it when you talk about yourself. I want you to do more of it.”

“Not until you do.”

“I talk a lot about myself,” he weakly defends.

“Calling yourself hot doesn’t count.”

“But you can agree I am, right?” He bats his eyelashes with hopefulness.

I almost laugh, but I swallow it down. “I’m not going to stroke your ego, Garcia.”

“But I want you to stroke it,” he utters throatily then tenses like he’s realized what he said but doesn’t correct himself.

“Just once. That’s all I want. Please ,” he gruffly says.

The last word leaving his lips is an impatient and eager plea; it’s far too enthusiastic but also heated with urgency. “ Josefine , please.”

I drag my palm up his spine until my fingers reach the back of his jersey. I should stop because I have no idea what I’m doing, but he’s not stopping me. He’s only staring at me like I’m everything he’s prayed for.

His eyes dilate, breath puffing out shakily as I skate my fingers up the nape of his neck and weave them through his hair. It’s far softer than I imagined. It feels good and again I tell myself to stop but I don’t.

I’m enthralled with how firm and large his hands feel on my waist, and his rock-hard chest is pressed against mine.

I click my tongue, sighing like I’m disappointed. “That wasn’t good enough.”

“Please, Josefine, just say it once. Only once, that’s all I want. Please say it,” he pleads incessantly and then switches to Spanish. My weakness. “Por favor dímelo. Nomás una vez. Hago lo que tú quieras.”

His hands squeeze tightly. I can feel my pulse against each finger and the one between my thighs.

I inhale as steadily as I can, hoping my voice won’t betray me. I fist his hair, forcing his head back as I bring my face close to his, my lips just a mere centimeter from his. “You’re hot. Ego stroked?”

“Barely.” His fingers slide down the curve of my waist. Forget dilated, his eyes are blown, shot with heat. They drift until he’s staring at my lips as I stare at his.

The bubble we’re trapped in fills with electricity until it becomes unbearably hot and bursts. Static shock sprawls through every cell in my body, causing my brain to combust and stop working.

“Josie…” His hands continue to descend until they’re right above my ass.

“Yeah?” I absently move until I’m straddling him, but I still hover over him, granting him with my position to do what he’s thinking.

He cups my ass, forcing me to sit on him completely. He stifles a groan and I swallow back a moan as I feel his erection press against me.

We shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t be okay with this, but I can’t think coherently.

“Just once?” he roughly asks, letting him use me to rub him. My bikini bottoms and the seam of my denim shorts dig into my pussy, eliciting the best kind of pressure on my clit.

To get it out of our systems.

My rational thoughts are clouded. I’m dizzy and the pit of my stomach coils as the pressure of me grinding against him grows.

“Just once.”

We need this. It’ll be a one-time thing.

He closes the small gap between us, sealing our lips and stealing all the oxygen. My lips become pliable against his, letting him take control and do as he pleases. I follow along, savoring the way his lips and teeth suck, bite, and nip my lower lip.

I moan into his mouth, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. He slips his tongue into my mouth and fervently kisses me, obliterating whatever oxygen I have left until I’m panting not for air, but for more of him.

I’m humping myself faster on him, my fingers getting lost and tangled in his hair. I pull it back and he groans, squeezing my ass punishingly.

But our kiss is short-lived and we wrench back, panting breathlessly as his phone vibrates against the floor. A picture of him and his mom appears on the screen. She’s calling him, but he goes to ignore it.

“Answer it.” I lick my swollen lips, feeling lightheaded and in need to get off but his phone continues to vibrate.

“I can?—”

“Answer it. We got it out of our system, right?”

My body is screaming at me to finish what we started, but I’d feel like shit if he didn’t answer.

His molten eyes burn me, and I almost stop myself from getting off him, but I force myself to stand.

“Right,” he supplies tentatively as he stands.

He looks just as disheveled as I feel. Locks of his hair are sticking out, and his hat is on the floor. I don’t remember that coming off.

Neither one of us moves but when his phone vibrates again, we part, neither one of us saying good night. But a few moments later, he slips a note under my door.

Is it really out of your system?

It’s not out of mine.