June

"Haaa..."

I sigh wearily, dragging my palm down my face. A stubborn strand of hair falls into my vision, and I blow it away without much care, eyes fixed on the ceiling. I’m not counting the tiles this time — I usually do — because today my mind is elsewhere.

Which, of course, has been my default mood ever since I found out I slept with my boss, but today is different.

Because I’m no longer confused about what I feel for Mr. Grande anymore. I’m finally facing the ...