The Fire and the Fix

Four days in, and the way I feel about her is undeniable. It’s not just attraction—it’s something deeper, something pulling at me from the inside, telling me this is it. She’s supposed to be the one. And if that’s true, then I have a lot to fix before I see her again.

I take another sip of my beer, feeling the warmth of the alcohol mix with the heat she stirs inside me. She stretches her leg out, slow, deliberate, pressing against me under the table. I glance at her, and she knows exactly what she’s doing. A smirk plays on her lips. She enjoys this—the control, the effect she has.

But control is a two-way street. I lean in slightly, my voice low. "No hands now. I have to see you get off."

There’s a flicker in her eyes—excitement, challenge, something unspoken passing between us. She likes this. The way I push her, the way I take what she gives and turn it into something else, something more. It’s not just about power—it’s about trust, about knowing we can let go with each other in ways we never could with anyone else.

She moves, slow and intentional, and for a second, I get lost in her. In the way she reacts, in the way her body speaks in ways words never could. And that’s when it hits me.

I can’t lose her.

It’s not just about the way she touches me, the way we fit. It’s about everything—the way she looks at me like she sees something worth believing in, the way she listens like my words matter. The way she challenges me, calls me out, pushes me to be better.

But am I better?

I feel like my life is a mess. There are things I need to solve, loose ends I need to tie up, shadows I need to deal with before she comes back. She deserves more than someone who's just surviving. If she’s supposed to be the one, then I have to prove it—not just to her, but to myself.

I let my gaze linger on her, watching the way she melts into the moment, completely lost in it. "I like your face when you're enjoying it," I whisper, and it's not just about right now. It's about everything. About how I want to be the reason she looks like this, always.

But before that, I have work to do.

P.S. Some people fix their lives for themselves. Some do it for the ones they love. I just know that by the time I see her again, I have to be ready.