The Art of Catching Feelings

by Alicia Thompson

“I want to worship you,” he groaned against her breasts, the day’s worth of beard on his jaw abrading the sensitive skin in a way that made every nerve ending fire. “Worship me next time,” she said. “Tonight I just want you to fuck me.”

I fell in love with you—with your laugh and your generosity and the way you make everything else brighter. You’re the book I want to reread. For the rest of my life.”

And when she turned, there was a whole wall of bookshelves. Just plain white shelves, waiting to be filled. Except they weren’t completely empty. There was a stack of books already on one shelf, which she recognized as some of Chris’. The library copy of the baseball book he’d retrieved from his dad’s house. That sports biography, that book The Tender Land, a copy of Catch-22, his copy of Mandy, which they’d finished together, her reading parts of it aloud to him in bed. And on top of the stack, a little rubber duck, just like in her old profile picture. “Chris, I—” She didn’t even know what to say. She was overcome. She blurted the first thing that popped into her head. “I don’t even own this many books.” “But you will,” he said.