Over a week had passed since I joined the mile-high club, and what a week it had been. “Making her fall in love with him” apparently translated to sticking to me like glue in the ex-model’s book, with Nathan accompanying me everywhere while keeping me in a sexual thrall so powerful it had me doing things I had never thought I’d be willing to do.

Monday’s café was where I came to discover why footsies were indeed erotic, with Nathan able to make me come with just his damn foot. Tuesday’s newly opened 4D cinema introduced me to the pleasures of making out in a theater, Nathan having to cover my mouth when the way he stroked my pussy became too much for me to bear in silence.

Wednesday’s airport lounge was probably one of the craziest, with Nathan managing to sneak me in and out of the men’s shower room without being detected. While I deep-throated his cock on my knees, Nathan had managed to keep a steady flow of conversation with the other guys, all of whom seemed to have been suffering from a bad case of hero worship.

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday – the same things had happened, and I’d have become suspicious that Nathan only saw me as a sexual toy than someone he was trying to help get over heartbreak---

If not for the little things, such as the way he would hang out in my apartment when I was working on a blog post and he’d make me coffee exactly the way I liked it. It was the way, when we weren’t busy making each other come, he would ask me questions incessantly, almost as if he wanted to know me better than I knew myself.

It was the way he had looked at me when I had asked him baldly why hadn’t he tried fucking me yet, and yes, it was the way he had answered me, too. “I don’t want you to keep thinking of yourself as a slut. We both know you’re not, but you’ll end up thinking that if we sleep with each other right away.” After, he had reached for a lock of my hair, bringing it to his lips as he murmured, “So let’s take our time driving each other crazy, sweetheart.”

Sunday had been rather different, with us spending most of the day in my apartment. Somehow, the ex-model had managed to convince me to cook while wearing an apron – and nothing else. While we waited for the pie to bake, he got me bending over the counter so he could fuck me with his fingers from behind.

And now, I thought gloomily, I was suffering the consequences of my actions. Like it or not, the painful throes in my heart were symptoms of separation anxiety, which had started the moment I had seen Nathan to the door that Sunday night and he had told me out of the blue that he was leaving for Hong Kong the next day.

When I had asked the reason why, he had only shaken his head with a smile that was as sexy as it was irritatingly sly. “It’s not good if we know everything there is about each other,” the ex-model had purred in response. And even as I had sputtered in rage, the stupid Greek jerk had only laughed, saying mildly, “Worrying about me possibly cheating on you should keep you from hurting.”

The answer had me wanting to strangle him, but I couldn’t since he had hauled me into his arms by then. Giving me a hard kiss, he had said huskily, “See you in a week, sweetheart.”

By the time I had recovered, he was already walking away, and I had only been able to yell after him, “Asshole!”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

And that was that.

I glared at my laptop. It was only for a few days. I had lived almost thirty years without Nathan Callis in my life. This should be nothing---

My iPhone suddenly vibrated against the table, and the speed in which I fumbled for it was like fate mocking me. Obviously, a few days of not seeing Nathan Callis were everything.

I angrily punched my screen to open the unread message, wishing it were Nathan’s too-perfect nose instead.

Nathan: Where are you right now?

Alyx: What’s it to you?

Nathan: I take it you’re still mad I haven’t told you why I went to HK.

Alyx: Hundo p.

Nathan: What?

Alyx: You’re ONE HUNDRED PERCENT I’m FUCKING MAD. Do I have to give an ELI5 for everything?

Nathan: No, you don’t have to “explain like I’m five”. I just like making you mad.

My jaw dropped. So he did understand everything I had typed!

Nathan: It’s sexy as hell.

Alyx: DICK.

Nathan: Yes, I know. You miss it. My dick misses you, too.

Alyx: Fuck off.

Nathan: So damn horny for you now, I may need to eat your pussy before I can even say hello.

Alyx: @$%#&!

Nathan: I’m horny, too! #ftfy

A reluctant laugh escaped me as I read the hashtag.

Ever since I had started working as a freelance blogger, I had realized almost immediately that the majority of my target readers didn’t speak old-school English. Instead, Reddit seemed to have made up an entirely new language that everyone who spent more than six hours on the Internet was fluent in. After a bit of deliberating on marketing strategies, I had decided to use the same language and tone in my posts, hoping it would attract more readers to my blog. It had, and I had never looked back.

Alyx: You’re the only person above 25 that I know who gets me.

Nathan: I did use to be a model, sweetheart.

Alyx: What does that mean?

Nathan: I see something cool, it’s snatched.

Another laugh escaped me.

Alyx: It doesn’t suit you.

Nathan: I know that, too. I just wanted to make you laugh because you need more of it in your life. I hate it when you look sad, sweetheart.

My heart skipped a beat at the unexpected response, and I quickly switched my phone off without replying. Yes, I had asked Nathan Callis to make me fall for him---

But wasn’t this going too fast?

One alarming question after another struck my mind, but I determinedly shoved all of them away. I looked determinedly at my laptop. Too much time had already been wasted on Nathan Callis. It was time to work.

I nodded vehemently to myself.

So let’s focus on work, Alyx Marshall.

Pulling out a folder, I clicked on the photos of the latest café I had been asked to review, wanting to study them side by side. It seemed like shabby chic was the hottest trend in the café business, with Macy’s showcasing the same interior style.

I began typing.

More often than not, if you’ve seen one shabby chic restaurant, you’ve seen them all. But if you do it right, you can still make your place stand out, and thankfully Macy’s managed to do just that. The place had a dollhouse-like feel to it, with a little bit of a Stepford vibe, but not in a creepy way.

I went on to describe the place in detail, highlighting in particular the lovely pink SMEG refrigerator in one corner and the cozy feels the checkered tablecloths evoked. Pulling out another photo, I found myself staring at a table centerpiece: sunflowers gathered in one upcycled bottle---

And before I realized what was happening, it was already too late, and the bottle had transformed into something else.

The bottle with its upcycled design was now a symbol for love.

You know that part of your body that has to beat and pump blood? It starts off as nothing but a human organ, a component making up the circulatory system.

But once that beating organ finds a deeper purpose and gets upcycled---

That’s when it becomes a heart, one capable of things that are beyond what it was originally created for---

I froze when I realized my thoughts had gone off the deep end. Shit. I gave my laptop’s keyboard a few furious jabs as I pulled up another batch of photos. Focus on work, Alyx!

In one photo was a close-up shot of an oversized polka-dot mug, filled to the brim with colorful marshmallows, caramel popcorn, and strawberry pretzels. Another photo showed Macy’s play area, which came complete with picket fences, artificial turf, miniature chairs, and tables. There was also a vintage mailbox---

I stilled.

Don’t go there, Alyx.

Don’t go there---

But my mind still went there!

Have you ever thought how a mailbox might feel when it receives a letter?

I covered my ears in a futile attempt to keep myself from hearing my thoughts, but the words…just…kept…coming.

It doesn’t really have a choice on which letters would come inside it, just like how the heart can’t choose which person’s love it would receive---

I squeezed my eyes shut in crippling shame, but it still didn’t stop the disgustingly emotional words from flowing out.

But what if a mailbox has a sudden, inexplicable desire to return one of the letters? What if your heart falls for another---

I slammed my laptop shut and without letting myself think, I reached for my phone and sent a text to a number I had memorized without intending to.

A reply came a moment later.

I’ll be waiting.