On a Wednesday by Whitney G.
Courtney: Now
Present Day
Boston, Massachusetts
My heart somersaulted in my chest as the elevator rose up the floors of Kyle’s million-dollar condo.
A part of me wanted to tell my boss to go fuck himself for making me come here, but another part—one I couldn’t explain, wanted to see Kyle in person again. To personally let him know that whether I still had feelings for him or not, the chances of us being friends again were slim to none.
The doors glided open once I reached his floor.
Kyle was already standing in the hallway, glaring at me.
I stepped off and glared right back.
For several moments, neither of us said a word. Neither of us made a move.
Out of nowhere, he strolled over to me and cupped his hand around my neck—pressing his lips against mine.
I wrapped my arms around him, and he pushed me against the wall.
His eyes locked on mine, and all of a sudden, it felt like we were in college again.
He slid his hands down to my waist and gripped my hips, gently lifting me and walking me inside his place. He carried me to the sofa and lay me back against the cushions.
Pulling his shirt over his head, he tossed it onto the floor.
He took his time unbuttoning my blouse—pressing a hot kiss against my skin in between each one.
His familiar touch immediately awakened my body—making me remember just how perfect we once were together.
How we never should’ve let go.
Untying my pants, he pushed them down to my ankles and looped his fingers under my panties—yanking them off.
I sat up a bit and fumbled his belt buckle, but he pushed me back down.
Moving on top of me, he pressed kisses against my neck—rendering me speechless with the power of his mouth.
Trailing his way down to my stomach, he ran his hand against my thighs and spread them a bit wider.
He kept his eyes on mine as he moved lower, blowing against my clit. Then he swirled his tongue against it—making it swell against his lips.
“Ahhh …” I moaned as he sped up his rhythm, as he slipped two fingers deep inside of me.
“Court…” He unwrapped a condom and slid into me all at once, forcing me to dig my nails into his skin.
I watched him, and he watched me.
Every stroke was a deep reminder of the memories that still kept us up at night.
His lips met mine as my pussy throbbed against his cock, and as he whispered my name, we came together.
We remained panting and entwined, both of us unable to say a word.
He slowly rolled off me, trailing his hand against the side of my face before throwing the condom away. Then, like he once did, he cleaned me up and redressed me first.
When I finally regained my strength, I stood to my feet.
“We’ll need to meet in public next Wednesday if you really want me to interview you,” I said. “In full view of the press.”
He said nothing.
“Thank you for the opportunity to finally show everyone that I’m capable of writing something great. I promise that I’ll take great care of your reasoning, and—”
“This isn’t about a fucking article, Court.” He cut me off. “As far as I’m concerned, the best thing that was ever written about me was your thesis in college, and you should publish that publicly.”
I stepped back. “You’re committing career suicide, and you want me to publish my college work?”
“I’m committing career suicide for you,” he said. “I want you back, and I don’t know any other way to make that clear. And I don’t know why I’ve waited all this time to tell you how I feel.”
“You could’ve picked up the phone.”
“You could’ve, too.”
Silence.
“I tried to reach you for over a year.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I wrote you a shit ton of letters, and I tried to find your phone number and email. I fucking tried.”
“Just like the time you met me freshman year and gave me an imaginary ride, right? Just like that?”
“Court…”
“Kyle, I’m really happy that you’re having a great career,” I said. “But there are certain words that you can’t take back, and I think that what we had in college, was just for college.”
“Can you at least hear me out?” He asked. “One drink and I won’t ask you to meet me for another Wednesday.”
“That’s a promise?”
“One-hundred-percent.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “One drink.”
He smiled and walked into his kitchen, taking out a few glasses.
When he was out of my sight, I turned around and rushed away—taking the elevator out of his place before I made the mistake of believing we could ever be anything more than we were.