We were only fooling ourselves, Jamie and I. It was only a matter of time before our feelings for each other got the better of us.
We tried. God knows we tried. We should have known better. A man and woman can’t feel what we felt for each other and be just friends. Not for long, anyway. At some point, all reason goes out the window. Funny thing about love–it’s stronger than any other force on the planet.
I should have sent Jamie packing the first time he showed up on my doorstep. I knew what we were doing was wrong. Even before there was any physical intimacy, we were committing adultery. It began when we were trapped in the aftermath of the earthquake, sleeping in each other’s arms in my sleeping bag in an attempt to keep warm. Dependent upon each other for our survival.
I should have had the presence of mind to end it the day we were rescued. I didn’t, because I wanted him in my life. Even if we could never be together, I wanted him in my life. He would come to my place once or twice a week, whenever our schedules permitted. I’d make dinner or he’d bring takeout. We’d eat, maybe take a walk on the beach or watch a movie. And we’d talk. We became each other’s best friends and confidantes. We could talk to each other about anything and everything–except his marriage. We both avoided that subject.
We never avoided physical contact. We hugged, we held hands, we danced. I’m not sure it would have mattered if we had avoided any form of touching. As Jamie liked to remind me, we’d already slept together.