I dropped my hands from his back and fisted the comforter, twisting it and pulling the corners free as I held on tight, riding out my orgasm. He kept the same pace, the same pressure, until my legs fell lax. Then, he kissed me, long and slow, steadying his pace, letting me parachute down.

He was still working between my legs, and he hooked his forearm under my left knee before guiding my ankle to rest on his shoulder. He kissed my ankle, sucking the soft skin there, and then he picked up his pace, reaching new depths in that position. It took only four pumps for him to find his own release, and one hand tightened around my ankle as the other held him steady over me. He groaned, flexing into me even deeper one last time before letting my leg fall and collapsing down on top of me.

My legs ached, but I wrapped my arms around him, fingers softly brushing the ridges of his shoulders. He trembled under the touch and kissed my neck. Jamie was panting, his breath hot against my skin, and I struggled to find balance in my own breathing. He propped himself up on his elbows and kissed my lips, shaking his head. “Well damn.”

I giggled, and he kissed my nose. “My thoughts exactly.”

“You have to be mine after that,” he breathed. He was still inside me and the intensity was too much to think, but I forced my way through the haze.

“I can’t.”

“Fuck that,” he argued. “You can. You are.”

“I’m leaving Sunday night, Jamie,” I said seriously, breaking our kiss so that he’d look at me.

He exhaled, furrowing his brows. “So be mine for the weekend.”

I hated the way he looked at me, even more knowing I couldn’t give him that, either. “I can’t. I have plans with my family. This is it… this is all I have.”

“Why can’t we be long distance?”

I laughed, wrapping my left hand around my right wrist behind his neck. “Because that’s a guaranteed way to get our hearts broken.” I saw the disappointment in his eyes and quickly followed that statement. “But I’m not running from you anymore, Jamie.”

“Does that mean you’ll answer my calls?”

I smiled softly and nodded. “Just… let’s not try to put a name on this. On us.”

That seemed to ease him a little, and he blew out a long breath through his nose, eyes bouncing between mine. “Alright, then. I need you to give me two things.” I waited, and his tongue rolled over his lips before he spoke again. “Tonight, and one day.”

“Tonight,” I repeated, breathily. “And one day.”

He nodded. “I have to have both.”

I considered him, thought too hard about what he was asking before deciding I didn’t need to dwell on it right now. I answered with one nod before pulling him down until his mouth met mine again. He kissed me with intent, and I felt him harden where he still rested inside me. My body achingly stirred back to life, and I knew I was in for a sore weekend after that.

So that’s what I allowed myself — one night with Scotch. He made the most of it, not letting me sleep until the sun was already peeking through the dark curtains in his bedroom. I tried not to hold onto his words with too much hope, because the fact was that I was leaving for Pittsburgh, and he was staying here. It was just like that night on the beach five years before, except this time the roles were reversed, and I knew he wouldn’t follow me to Pennsylvania the way I followed him to Alder.

I kept that in mind as we made love that night, over and over, yet still it was impossible not to hold onto him too tightly. I’d let him go three years before and I was terrified to do it again, even though I knew I had to. Looking back, that was the night my hate for timing truly manifested. That was the night I realized that no matter how easy it seemed to be to form a long-standing relationship with Whiskey, the truth was that it wasn’t simple at all, not even a little bit.

He asked me for two things: tonight, and one day.

But one day never came.

“WELCOME TO RYE PUBLISHING,” Mona said quickly, ushering us off the elevator as she adjusted the tight, dark bun on her head. “This is going to go quickly because I have shit to do, okay? So pay attention.”

I nodded feverishly, popping the end of my pen on the notepad hooked in my arm just in case I needed to write anything down. It was my first time in the office, my first day of my internship, and regardless of Mona’s bored eyes and bubblegum popping, I was excited to be here. Hell, I was honored to be here.

Rye Publishing was very well known and sought after. It was hard to land an internship role and even more impossible to get hired on full-time. Though they were stacked with clients, the payroll list was small, exclusive, and top-notch. I wanted a spot so badly I could taste it like the iron from blood on my tongue. I was going to make a name for myself at Rye Publishing if it was the last thing I did.

“This is my desk, reception. I handle all the clients and guests who come through as well as administrative tasks. Clearly, I love my job,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Our office is a big square, cubes all in the middle and offices on the outside with the exception of two meeting areas. This is one of them,” she gestured to a conference room with a long, rectangular table and dozens of leather chairs on either side. One giant screen sat on the far wall and a whiteboard wall with writing scribbled all along it took up the back space not occupied by a window. “It’s almost always booked, so don’t plan on using it unless you’re invited. But the one on the opposite end of this hall is a more relaxed meeting space with hammocks and such, you can almost always get in there.”

Mona was clicking down the hall in front of me, her years of perfecting striding in heels leaving me looking even less coordinated than usual. I scurried to keep up with her as my eyes took in the offices we passed. There were books everywhere — shelves of them, frames holding manuscripts, classic covers blown up to poster-size. Every window had a different, beautiful view of downtown Pittsburgh and the entire office had a modern, sleek feel to it. There were chalkboards and whiteboard walls here and there, and Mona walked me past the “break room” that looked more like a rustic bar than anything else.

She showed me where each department housed themselves within the office, from the agents to the media team, and then she pointed to a tiny half-desk in the corner of the central cube area. It had a computer and an empty pencil holder along with an all-black filing cabinet that matched the black leather chair.