Where is the damned dark chocolate? I could probably see into my cabinets better if my vision wasn’t so blurry.

But the tears won’t stop. Every-time I think I’m done, they just…start again.

I stand on the step stool in my kitchen and look in the top cabinet for more baking trays. I wipe my nose with my ratty sleeve and look at my kitchen.

I chose this condo for the open layout and the big island counter, but I’m running out of space. I have 4 cooling racks set up with cookies on them and 2 more empty ones because baking calms my nerves.

Or so I thought.

“Keyra…” I turn on the stool and see Dane, hands propped on his hips and the most confused expression on his face. He looks at all the baked goods and finally meets my eyes, his perfectly formed mouth opening a little. “Are you trying to feed an army?”

He has a key to my place because he’d check in on me after I was released.

I feel my eyes well up again and his jaw actually drops this time, before he comes to me and plucks me off the stool.

I immediately bury my face in his chest and his arms come around me. I feel him rest his chin on top of my head and that just makes me cry even harder.

“I…don’t…know…what…to…dooooo.” I hate myself for breaking down like this, but I feel so lost. Working with my dad has been my life. I grew up with it, I learned it and studied it…I can’t do anything else.

I didn’t expect to have to do anything else. Ever. I know my dad said I could come back in six months but…what if he realizes he doesn’t need me?

What will I do then?

Once I’ve soaked his shirt sufficiently, I stop crying but I keep my forehead on his chest. He lets me stand there silently and I’m grateful.

Dane is good at the silent, strong thing.

“Don’t you have to go to practice?”My voice is muffled but he knows what I said. I think.

“Have to be there at 10, I’ve got a little time.” He murmurs, stroking my back. I feel like such a child, but it feels so nice. “Are you done or do you want me to tuck you in too?”

I pull away, scowling. “You’re the worst.”

He winks. Damn long eyelashes. “Your tears make me uncomfortable. How much of an ass do I have to be to take you straight to annoyance?”

“I hate you a little.” I narrow my eyes, turning to the island and grabbing a chocolate chip cookie. I stuff it in my mouth and he stares at me, unimpressed.

“Only a little? Should I tell you about the girl I kicked out this morning whose name I still can’t remember?” He pulls me away from the counter when I start to reach for another cookie and I pout.

There’s so many. Another won’t hurt.

“Why am I friends with you?” I sit next to him on the couch and he pops my legs over his lap, grabbing the throw blanket from the back of my couch and spreading it over our legs.

“You’re the one who kept petting my biceps that night, then insisted I give you my number and snapchat you pictures of my arms.”

I feel myself redden, thinking back on that night.

Freakin’ Mickey and her brownies.

How was I supposed to know they weren’t just regular triple chocolate brownies? They tasted exactly the same! I’d never had pot in my life.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up the next morning with blurry memories from drinking and apparently really potent weed.

“You had zero shame at sending me pictures though.”

He shrugs, patting my leg.

“I have great arms.”

“So, the chick from last night? Distract me from the fact that my life has no purpose for the next 6 months.” I take a deep breath, but I think I’ve got all the tears out.

God, I’m going to look like a puffer-fish later.

“Met her at The End Zone, took her home, the rest is history.”

“Did she blow you?”

“If you’d seen my dick, you wouldn’t have to ask that question.” He smirks, and I shake my head, ignoring the bait.

Thankfully my resolve is legendary.

“I liked it better when you did the whole I’m too hot to communicate thing.”

“That wasn’t a thing, I don’t like to waste words.”

“Well, your statement is still false because if I remember correctly, the last one said something about blowjobs being offensive to feminism.”

Kind of crazy to me since I always felt like I had all the power whenever I gave blowjobs.

It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that though, since the guy I’m seeing doesn’t like them. He doesn’t like giving oral either, but I can’t really complain since he’s not a hypocrite about getting it.

“I actually liked her…whenever she stopped talking.” He muses. “Have you told Asshole about today yet? Maybe he’ll actually take you out now.”

Even the thought of my…boyfriend? I don’t know, it’s still early and we haven’t exactly had the DTR talk.

Even mentioning him, Dane’s entire face looks set in stone.

“I left him a message because he was unavailable. Why don’t you like him? I thought you two got along fine when you met.”

“We spoke maybe 10 words to each other and I wanted to punch him in the throat.”

“That’s violent.” I wince. “He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t trust men that don’t give oral. Hell, the fact that he doesn’t like blowjobs baffles me. Oh, and he’s a little bitch for his I just want to keep things private a little longer rhetoric.” He smiles, the look in his eye predatory. “I’d gladly rock his shit if we were on the ice.”

I glance at my watch, making sure he isn’t staying longer than he should just to keep me company. I ignore the comment about Michael being a little bitch.

I try to ignore a lot of things involving Dane, hard as that is.

I’m completely fine with Michael not wanting to go public with our relationship yet.

Most of the time.

“How are you more mad about our bedroom activities than I am? How exactly does that work?” I ask.

“You’d be mad about it too if someone had done it correctly.” I tilt my head to the side, crossing my arms.

The man has all the nerve in the world.

“Maybe I just don’t like…all of that. That’s completely normal, you know.”

“I’m sure it is. That’s fine…for other women who haven’t drunkenly confessed how much they wish their boyfriend would get more intimately acquainted.” He widens his eyes in faux innocence and my jaw drops.

“That’s a lie.” I snatch my legs off his lap.

“I don’t need to lie. I can’t make this stuff up. Drunk Keyra is my third favorite, next to Protective Keyra. Business Keyra is good, but scarier.”

“And the first favorite?” I can’t believe I said that, but I’m still curious.

“Regular Keyra of course, Baby-cakes.” He stands. “You’re not gonna cry again, are you? Because I’ve gotta go and I can’t hold you.”

“I didn’t ask you to come over and hold me.” I punch his arm, walking him towards the door.

Then I remember all the cookies. I rush back to the kitchen and pull out the largest Tupperware container I have and start dumping cookies into it.

I thrust it at him, and at the last second, give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you.”

“For what? You’re coming to our game tonight right?” I nod, and his lips lift in his quirky little side grin, and I watch him walk down the hallway and to the elevator.

I close my door and lean back against it, sighing.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more infatuated in my life, and I have no idea what to do to make it go away.