[Previously titled 𝗚𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁𝘆 𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲]
❝No, Ace. I can't do it," I sob.
"I know you can take more than that, sunshine, come on," he encourages, pummeling into me in fervent motions. "One more for daddy, yeah?" He coaxes in a gruffly voice...
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A C E
Driving through the night, Olivia's thoughts consume me. Each encounter leaves me exhilarated yet frustrated. Her responses to my touch, the exchanged glances, the undeniable chemistry, all impossible to ignore.
Nervousness when I touch her, spreading blush, retreat but not fully pulling away—it's a maddening dance of push and pull that drives me crazy. Lost in thought, I barely noticed arriving at her apartment building. Staring up, hesitation and longing grip me. What am I doing here?
I'm not entirely sure, but something compels me to see her. I turn off the engine, footsteps echo as I approach the entrance. Doubt creeps in—what am I expecting to happen?
She made it clear to me that she doesn't want me near her. I have no reason to be here anymore. But the pull is too strong to resist. I knock, softly at first, then urgently. No response. Frustration bubbles up.
Why did I think she'd be home?
Then, I remember Olivia's words about someone in her life. The idea of someone else having her attention frustrates me, stirring jealousy and disappointment. Backing away from the door, my hand still poises to knock, reality hits me, and I regret coming here.
"Excuse me?"
A voice echoes through the hallway, causing me to pivot to the left and come face-to-face with an elderly woman.
"Is there something I can assist you with, young man? I happen to be the owner of this establishment. A concerned resident informed me that you've been lingering outside Miss Hernandez's apartment for a solid half-hour. Is there an issue?"
Just fantastic. I'm pretty sure I've just earned the 'potential creep' award.
"Well, I'm her visual art professor. We had scheduled...a session for today, but it appears she's not responding to my knocks," I fabricate hastily and the old woman raises a knowing eyebrow.
"I saw her leave about an hour ago. Did she not inform you?"
"We don't have each other's personal contact information actually," I sigh, attempting to appear more concerned than mortified.
"Would you like me to give her a call to let her know you're here?" She offers, producing her phone from the depths of her cardigan.
"Actually, is there any chance I could obtain her number?" I ask, infusing my tone with an air of politeness that masks my desperation.
The situation's urgency demands bending the rules a bit.
"Well, divulging such information isn't typically within my purview," she replies, giving me an apologetic smile as she adjusts her glasses.
