Too Late to Love Me

I lowered my head and watched Alora Sheffield's pale, delicate fingertips graze my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

She still smelled like liquor, and her delicate neck was covered in purplish-red hickeys. Soft and obliging, I wrapped a blanket around her cold shoulders. "I'll do as you ask."

Alora laughed so hard that she couldn't catch her breath. "Oh, gosh, you make a good lap dog."

I pretended not to understand the implication of those words. I made sure she took the pill, then turned and grabbed the cooling, soothing ointment from the medicine cabinet.

She rubbed the top of my head and let me touch her body over and over.

She didn't like it when others left marks on her body, but she'd sometimes get so caught up in the moment that she'd forget. So I learned how to apply ointment and give massages, allowing her to maintain her usual formidable image as Ms. Sheffield the next morning.

Alora was fast asleep by the time I finished applying the ointment.

I quietly picked up the clothes littered across the floor. She tended to be this uninhibited whenever she met a man who suited her taste.

Dawn was beginning to break by the time I’d done the laundry and made a hangover tonic.

I sat on the couch and quietly waited for Alora to wake up. There was something particularly endearing about her when she slept and let her guard down.

Alora, true to her name, looked perfectly at peace in her sleep.

Despite her bold, carefree laughter, there was always an exhaustion in her eyes that never seemed to fade. Then again, behind the glamor lay the countless days and nights of hardship she'd endured to survive and reign in the brutal world of business at such a young age.

My thoughts rose and fell along with her breathing.

She hadn't said a word about it, but I'd already sensed the recent shift in her behavior. She’d become unusually agitated and often seemed distracted. She didn’t even notice right away when there was an error in the figures in a report.

She’d gone through one outfit after another in her wardrobe, but none of them seemed to satisfy her.

It wasn't hard for me to get my hands on Alora's schedule, which was how I ended up seeing two familiar words—Logan Fuller.

Alora's first love, Logan, would return from Amerulea tomorrow night.

I'd been with Alora for seven years. I knew Logan was the only one who could stir up such intense emotions in her.

The man who once had her had always come first in her life, while I wasn't even worthy of an explanation.

Alora rolled onto her side, clinging to the blanket as she muttered something in her sleep. I tucked her in and saw the tears glistening under her lashes. Even then, a small, sweet smile tugged on her lips.

Her alarm went off ten minutes later.

She was never grumpy upon waking. She merely sat on the bed in a daze for a moment before getting up. She was already seated across the table when I brought her a hot bowl of hangover tonic.

Alora had casually slipped into her loungewear, the loose neckline resting against her collarbone. It was only at times like this that she didn’t seem so far out of reach.

She absentmindedly stirred the soup in her bowl, her gaze drifting toward me every now and then. After a long pause, she took out a black card and slid it toward me.