Hard Already


    1 Week Later


    The box sits in the center of the kitchen ind like some object that can tell us the future.


    It''s not wrapped in bright paper or topped with a bow, just a sleek ck box with gold edging. It''s paired with a white envelope and my name is written in calligraphy across the textured paper.


    Zaid stands beside me, arms crossed, frowning at it like it personally insulted him. "You gonna open it?"


    I tilt my head, studying it with a squint. "I don''t even know what to open. It looks like it might just be for decor?"


    He raises an eyebrow. "A box for decor?"


    I shrug, lifting the thing gently. It''s heavier than I expected. "She''s rich. You should know


    how rich people are. You are one."


    Zaid lets out a shortugh. "There''s money rich, like my dad. And then there''s rich rich like your aunt. That''s a whole other breed."


    I grin at him, shaking my head. With a heavy sigh. I walk the box to our newly furnished living room and set it on the coffee table.


    I''ll open the envelope tomorrow, on my actual birthday.


    When I walk back into the kitchen, Zaid already has ingredients out for dinner. His sleeves are pushed up, and he''s chopping a zhini and mushrooms, while the steaks sit out with salt and pepper.


    I lean against the counter, watching him, taking in the way his forearms moves.


    "What do you want to do tomorrow?" He nces at me, a small smile pulling at his lips.


    I blink at him and then frown. "I don''t know. But my aunt wants to take us out for dinner."


    11:34 pm


    Hard Already


    His smile widens. "So I have all day tomorrow with you until then?"


    I nod. "We could just get breakfast somewhere. Walk around. I don''t care. I just


    want to spend the whole day with you."


    His smile fades, his expression pulling tight. Like the words hurt.


    I frown. "What?"


    Zaid keeps chopping, slower now. "Nothing."


    "Zaid."


    He sets the knife down, hands braced on the edge of the counter. "I don''t know how much longer I can do this."


    My heart stutters. I move toward him. "Do what?"


    He lifts his eyes, and they''re full of so much longing and frustration. "Stay away from


    you."


    I stop just inches from him. "Then don''t."


    He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. "Alina, we''ve only been here two weeks."


    I nod, trying to read the expression on his face.


    "You started therapy. You met your aunt. You''re lighter. You look happier."


    "I am happier," I whisper, wanting to show him that most of that is because of him.


    "You smile so much more," he mutters, looking at me in a way that has my stomach.


    I feel my heart turn light in my chest.


    "I don''t want to be the reason that stops," he confesses.


    My chest aches. I reach for his hand, curling my fingers around his. "You won''t be.


    I promise I won''t stop trying. I won''t stop working on me, on all of this."


    Zaid lets out a quiet, strangled sound, like he''s being tortured and tempted all at once.


    Hard Already


    "What if we just take it slow?" I whisper. "No sex. Just this. Holding hands. Kissing. Being


    together."


    "That''s gonna be hard," he mutters.


    "It''s already hard," I whisper, grinning as I step closer.


    His other handes up, cupping my jaw gently. His thumb runs across my cheek, and I


    lean into the warmth of his touch, the safety of it.


    He kisses me. Soft at first, like he''s testing the waters. Then deeper, hungrier. My fingers


    tighten in his shirt and his hand drifts to the back of my neck, and the whole world narrows down to this, to his mouth, his touch, his body and mine.


    We pull apart, breathing heavy.


    "I love you, Alina."


    I can''t help the smile that spreads across my face. "I love you."


    His forehead leans against mine, our breaths mingling, and for a moment I think that''s it; we''ve finally closed the space between us.


    But then he pulls back, just a little. His hands drop from my face, fingers twitching


    at his sides. There''s a tightness in his face.


    "What is it?" I ask quietly. "You look like you''re trying not to say something."


    He hesitates. Then, softly, "I''m just scared, Alina."


    My brows knit. "Scared of what?"


    "That we''re rushing back into something before we even know how things are gonna look now." He pulls back enough to really look at me, searching my face.


    I blink. "What do you mean?"


    "We''ve only been here two weeks. You''re still figuring things out. Therapy, your aunt, this ce, it''s all new. You''re still adjusting. I''m still adjusting."


    I swallow, my stomach souring from the nerves. "You think that means we can''t be


    Hard Already


    together?"


    He shakes his head. "I don''t know. I just know I want you to be okay. Like really


    okay."


    That hits something deep inside me. I look at him, his eyes filled with care, not doubt.


    "You think being with you will stop me from healing?"


    He seems to think about it, drawing back.


    My throat tightens. "I don''t think that.


    6693


    He smiles softly at me, leaning into me, pressing his body against mine as our


    foreheads


    touch.


    "I know," he says gently.


    I swallow hard, emotions knotting in my chest. "I want this, Zaid. Whatever it looks


    like."


    "I want this, too. Fuck, I want this," he whispers.


    Before I can answer, the doorbell rings.


    We both freeze.


    I catch his eyes, both of us dazed. He doesn''t move, just keeps looking at me like


    he can''t bring himself to let go.


    The doorbell rings again.


    Zaid sighs, keeping his forehead against mine for onest second before peeling


    himself


    away.


    "I swear," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "If it''s another package


    from your aunt, I''m gonna lose it."


    Iugh, still catching my breath. "It better not be another weird box."