The morning sun burns against my eyelids as I wake to a blinding white nothingness. I throw my hand over my eyes, and the light fades enough so I can see the silhouette of Kemper standing in front of the window, naked and baring himself for the world to see. The light softens around his body, highlighting his muscular body and taut ass.

He cocks his head over his shoulder, and his boyish face contrasted against his grown body is a dichotomy I hadn’t taken note of before, but it was always there. He’s a powerful enigma, a colossal titan forged with the chemistry of charisma.

And when he looks at me, and draws the curtain to a close, the room goes dark, with a thin column of light shining behind him as his shadowy figure approaches the bed.

“Good morning, Teach.” He kisses me softly on the head. “You slept like a rock.”

“What time is it?” I ask groggily and stretch my arms over my head.

“Quarter till noon.”

“Shit.” I throw the blankets off me, roll out of bed and fumble for my panties on the floor. “We have a six hour drive.”

“I know,” he says, as if it’s no big deal. “I didn’t want to wake you, though.”

I pull the shirt from yesterday over my head and rip my jeans off the floor. “My husband is going to kill me.”

He recoils in his step, his eyes shifting to the side. “Who cares?”

“I care.” I fasten my jeans and begin stuffing all my clothes into a bag. “It’s complicated.”

“Obviously,” he chuckles and scratches the back of his head. He steps to the dresser and leans against the wooden furniture in a seductive manner.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to get dressed.”

“Good idea.”

Driving a classic challenger was as exciting as anything in my life up until that point. Still, when we left the motel and Kemper insisted I should drive, I threw the keys to him. There’s too much on my mind to pay enough attention to the road ahead, when all I can contemplate is the road in the rearview mirror. With every mile marker we pass, clouds of chaos fog my mind, seeping from the deepest part of my psyche.

Kemper is cool and collected—when isn’t he—with the highway breeze blowing through short hair, and radio static bubbling from beneath us. Monday is widely considered to be the absolute fucking worst, but it’s Sundays I’ve come to despise.

Sunday evenings to be precise. It’s a day typically reserved for reflection and grace, and it is in those moments that I’m the weakest, when I’m unable to reconcile who I was with who I’ve become.

I search for a distraction, anything to purge the chaos from my mind. I peer over at Kemper, his eyes taking refuge behind a cool pair of shades and his fingers playing a beat against the steering wheel.

“Something on your mind?” I ask him, disrupting his laser-focus on the road ahead.

“How did you know?”

I shrug and force a smile. “You’re not the only one capable of reading minds.”

“Touche.” A half-smile ripples across his lips. “Do you think you can fall in love with someone in two nights?”

The question hits me hard. I wasn’t expecting an inquiry so deep. My mind is too scrambled to make sense of his question, and I can’t finger a motive. “I think it took less time than that to fall in love with my husband,” I say softly, reflecting on memories belonging to my former self. “Everything fell apart just as fast.”

“Do you still love him?” he asks with a certain heft in his tone, as if he’s afraid to hear an answer that doesn’t agree with his unknown motives.

“That’s one hell of a loaded question, but the answer will always be the same. I do.”

“What are we to you?” Another question is tossed from his lips, but his focus on the road is now unflinching. He’s interrogating me, not as himself, but as a robot far removed from the emotional entanglement.

“The hell if I know,” I sigh.

“Is it bad? Is it good? Is it a temporary distraction?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head and raise my thumb to my mouth. “It is what it is. Nothing more and nothing less?” Nervously, I scrape my fingernail with my tooth, waiting for him to react however he’s going to react, but the only response is an affirmative nod and then silence giving way to radio static once more.

“I’m okay with a day at a time.” He looks to me, but all I see is my reflection in his sunglasses.

I reach for his shades and pull them from his face so I can see the honesty in his dark eyes. I have a strong inkling what his answer to my question will be, but absolute confirmation is what I crave. “Do you think you can fall in love in a day?”

“I know I can,” he says lowly, his eyes glistening with poignant honesty.

I grow cold, the hairs of my body standing and on high alert. I shift myself toward him as his eyes trail back to the road. “Do you love me?”

“Would it make a difference?” He bats his eye at me, waiting for an answer that will never come. “Do you love me?”

I want to, is what I want to say, and it’d be the truth. The truth is more complicated than a simple, I do or I don’t. There are a thousand different variables between the two. “I don’t love you, Kemper.” I place my palm on his thigh. “But I’m not ready for this to be over.”

“Could you be a little less cryptic?” He flashes a wide grin and jabs me with his elbow.

“No one can ever know,” I say to him softly, but my words carry weight. “If this gets out—“

“I wouldn’t dare tell a soul,” he interrupts, and for the first time, I’m not annoyed with this particular annoying habit of him. It’s different on this side of a soul-awakening realization.

I’ve become a cheater, and a woman I can hardly recognize. I’m a liar, unable to maneuver the truth from my tongue. The truth is that there’s a thump in my heart when Kemper smiles, and there’s a roar when he laughs. There’s absolute thunder when he kisses me, and I can’t begin to understand the specifics of it all. I wouldn’t pretend to. It doesn’t make sense. It never has, never does, and probably never will.

It’s a feeling that defies definition, though we try in vein to get a handle on it. We think we know what causes it, and how to hold onto it past its expiration date. We have more scientific understanding than we’ve ever had before, but the truth remains as elusive as chasing eternity.

It’s the reason football can be so exciting, the reason why our nation pulses with the conviction of obsession come autumn every single Goddamn year. Sometimes, we never see a win coming. Other times, the players on the field are only chasing the inevitable.

Just as in life, the biggest blind side of all often comes when we’re least expecting it.

Love or something like it, fuck the semantics because the writing on the wall remains the same; I’m falling in love with Kemper Scott, and in doing so, I’ve stamped my one-way ticket to hell.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but my intentions started as anything but. I wonder if the powers that be will take that into consideration when they stamp my passport.