Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) by Lena Bourne Page B
Authors: Lena Bourne
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takes ages, and the hallway is just as empty and dark as it was when I left. She's not coming back. And I can't face another evening wishing she would, another night waking up at the slightest noise thinking it's her.
I pack my stuff even more hastily than the night I left her. I'm back at my new apartment two hours after I left it.
It's fully furnished, in that minimalistic modern way, with just a couple of black leather sofas in the living room, and a huge screen TV. I'll have to get a second one for the bedroom, since I can't fall asleep without it on. One of the couches has a sofa bed and I sleep there. It'll work for now. I really hope I've managed to leave the dreams of Gail behind at my mom's place too.
It's Sunday morning, and a family of birds is singing right outside my window. Spring has started. At Phillipa’s urging I enrolled in a bunch of extra-curricular classes. I now do yoga, dance, am a member of a classics book club, and all this on top of my school work, does at least keep my mind from wondering too much during the day. But at night it all comes back. Or on mornings like this. Or anytime when I let my mind wonder.
I dream of Scott. Not every night, but every second or third one for sure. And the love I feel in all those dreams, especially the ones where we're holding each other, is completely out of this world, a physical presence, a relentless weight that barely lessens by the time I have to go back to sleep. Somehow, it's worse than any nightmare I've ever had. I could forget the nightmares, chase them away. But this is love, this I have to hold on to. Can't chase it away.
Sometimes we kiss in the dreams, sometimes we just sit on the beach watching the sun set. And then I'm left with butterflies in my stomach, and my eyes wet with tears for the rest of the day. Which is stupid. Because he's not calling me, and I'm not calling him. It's how it is. How it has to be. He was right, I know that now, even though I still don't feel it. With his past, my future, I'm not sure there was ever a way for us to even be together. Which hurts, but I'm getting better at facing it.
My phone ringing brings me out of my head and back into the sunlit room where I'm supposed to be studying.
My heart sinks in disappointment when I see it's not Scott. Though why I'm even still expecting a phone call from him, after almost two months of silence is beyond me.
"Leo, how are you?" I say as I answer.
"Fine and you?"
"Getting by," I say, perhaps a little too morosely.
"Do you have any paper due?" he asks. "I would love to help you again."
I'm a little taken aback. We haven't actually spoken that much since the last time he checked over one of my papers. I went for one drink with him and Phillipa about a week ago, and apart from that, we only chatted a bit in between classes.
"Thanks for offering," I finally manage. "But you don't have to. Maybe we could just meet for a drink or something, talk about stuff."
I can't believe I'm saying it, but it feels good at the same time. I can't keep pining over Scott. It's been almost two months since he left me. Time to forget.
"That would be great," he answers and I can hear the smile in his voice. I would give a lot that it was Scott on the other side, saying those things. I actually shake my head, as though that will get rid of the thought.
We agree to meet for lunch, and I spend the whole time waiting for it fighting the urge to call him back and cancel. I don't though, which is quite an achievement.
He's wearing a light blue polo shirt and a thick, cable knit cardigan when we meet, along with his black rimmed glasses and a pair of skinny jeans, but somehow he looks cool and not nerdy. Maybe it's the fact that he's Italian. They can all dress so well.
He kisses both my cheeks as I walk up, his lips brushing against my skin. Heat rushes to my face and I'm sure I'm as red as a tomato. But it's because I'm worried that Scott will find out—a totally irrational
I pack my stuff even more hastily than the night I left her. I'm back at my new apartment two hours after I left it.
It's fully furnished, in that minimalistic modern way, with just a couple of black leather sofas in the living room, and a huge screen TV. I'll have to get a second one for the bedroom, since I can't fall asleep without it on. One of the couches has a sofa bed and I sleep there. It'll work for now. I really hope I've managed to leave the dreams of Gail behind at my mom's place too.
It's Sunday morning, and a family of birds is singing right outside my window. Spring has started. At Phillipa’s urging I enrolled in a bunch of extra-curricular classes. I now do yoga, dance, am a member of a classics book club, and all this on top of my school work, does at least keep my mind from wondering too much during the day. But at night it all comes back. Or on mornings like this. Or anytime when I let my mind wonder.
I dream of Scott. Not every night, but every second or third one for sure. And the love I feel in all those dreams, especially the ones where we're holding each other, is completely out of this world, a physical presence, a relentless weight that barely lessens by the time I have to go back to sleep. Somehow, it's worse than any nightmare I've ever had. I could forget the nightmares, chase them away. But this is love, this I have to hold on to. Can't chase it away.
Sometimes we kiss in the dreams, sometimes we just sit on the beach watching the sun set. And then I'm left with butterflies in my stomach, and my eyes wet with tears for the rest of the day. Which is stupid. Because he's not calling me, and I'm not calling him. It's how it is. How it has to be. He was right, I know that now, even though I still don't feel it. With his past, my future, I'm not sure there was ever a way for us to even be together. Which hurts, but I'm getting better at facing it.
My phone ringing brings me out of my head and back into the sunlit room where I'm supposed to be studying.
My heart sinks in disappointment when I see it's not Scott. Though why I'm even still expecting a phone call from him, after almost two months of silence is beyond me.
"Leo, how are you?" I say as I answer.
"Fine and you?"
"Getting by," I say, perhaps a little too morosely.
"Do you have any paper due?" he asks. "I would love to help you again."
I'm a little taken aback. We haven't actually spoken that much since the last time he checked over one of my papers. I went for one drink with him and Phillipa about a week ago, and apart from that, we only chatted a bit in between classes.
"Thanks for offering," I finally manage. "But you don't have to. Maybe we could just meet for a drink or something, talk about stuff."
I can't believe I'm saying it, but it feels good at the same time. I can't keep pining over Scott. It's been almost two months since he left me. Time to forget.
"That would be great," he answers and I can hear the smile in his voice. I would give a lot that it was Scott on the other side, saying those things. I actually shake my head, as though that will get rid of the thought.
We agree to meet for lunch, and I spend the whole time waiting for it fighting the urge to call him back and cancel. I don't though, which is quite an achievement.
He's wearing a light blue polo shirt and a thick, cable knit cardigan when we meet, along with his black rimmed glasses and a pair of skinny jeans, but somehow he looks cool and not nerdy. Maybe it's the fact that he's Italian. They can all dress so well.
He kisses both my cheeks as I walk up, his lips brushing against my skin. Heat rushes to my face and I'm sure I'm as red as a tomato. But it's because I'm worried that Scott will find out—a totally irrational
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