Chapter 115 Unwanted Dreams
Alex: POV
"Fuck!" I shouted, jumping up from the couch. I'd had a wet dream. About Daniel. Like some hormonal teenager.
The evidence was unmistakable—a dark, damp spot on my sweatpants and the couch cushion beneath me. Mortification washed over me in waves, my face burning hot enough to start a forest fire.
"What the actual fuck is wrong with me?" I muttered, yanking off my sweatpants and balling them up. 'First, I reject the guy, tell him I'm straight, and then my subconscious decides to betray me with the most vivid sex dream I've ever had?'
I glanced at the clock on my wall: 6:15 AM. Thank god I had time to clean up this mess before work. I stripped the cushion cover off and hurried to my laundry closet, shoving everything into the washing machine with twice the normal amount of detergent.
As if extra soap could somehow wash away my confusion along with the physical evidence.
The cold shower I took afterward did nothing to clear my head. Water pounded against my skin as I tried desperately to scrub away the lingering sensation of Daniel's hands on my body, his lips against mine.
But the more I tried to forget, the more vividly I remembered—both the real encounter in the desert and my dream version.
"It doesn't mean anything," I told my reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror. "Dreams are just random neural firings. Meaningless."
I dressed in record time, choosing a crisp button-down and my best suit—armor against my own thoughts.
As Design Director at Ace Architecture, I had a reputation to maintain. Nobody needed to know I was falling apart inside.
The drive to the office was a blur. I cranked the radio to drown out my thoughts, but every love song, every breakup anthem seemed to mock me. By the time I pulled into the parking garage, I'd cycled through frustration, denial, and something dangerously close to longing.
"Maybe work will help," I muttered, grabbing my laptop bag. "Just focus on the job."
The familiar rhythm of the office was comforting—the hum of printers, the smell of coffee, the click of keyboards. Normal things. Safe things. Things that had nothing to do with desert nights or Daniel's mouth or my own confusing reactions.
"Morning, Alex!" My assistant, Jeff, greeted me with her usual cheerfulness. "You're in early."
"Couldn't sleep," I mumbled, accepting the coffee she handed me. "Anything urgent?"
"Mr. Patterson called about the Marin County project. The clients are getting antsy about the timeline." She followed me into my office, tablet in hand. "And the team meeting for the Riverwalk Resort is at ten."
I nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Send me the Marin files. I'll call Patterson back this morning."
As Jeff left, I sank into my chair and booted up my computer. Work. Focus on work. The Riverwalk Resort was our biggest project this quarter—a sustainable tourism village along the Sierra Creek. The design was challenging, the clients demanding, and the local residents were fighting us every step of the way.
I dove into blueprints and environmental impact reports, losing myself in measurements and materials. For almost two hours, I managed not to think about Daniel at all.
A knock on my door distracted me. Mark Thornton, the firm's principal architect and my boss, stood in the doorway.
"Got a minute?" he asked, already settling into the chair across from my desk.
"Of course," I said, straightening my posture.
Mark studied me with the same critical eye he used for evaluating structural designs. "The Riverwalk situation is getting complicated. The environmental group is threatening to sue, and three council members are now opposing the permits."
I nodded, grateful for the professional problem. "I've been reviewing the impact reports. We can modify the riverfront structures to create less disruption to the habitat."
"That's why I'm here," Mark said, leaning forward. "Someone needs to go up there, meet with the community, smooth things over. Put a face to the project that isn't a corporate suit."
I immediately understood where this was heading. "You want me to go."
"You're the best person for it. You understand the technical aspects but can translate them for laypeople. Plus, you've got that..." he gestured vaguely at me, "approachable thing going on."
Under normal circumstances, I might have pushed back. Site visits weren't typically my responsibility, and we had community liaisons for this exact purpose. But right now, getting out of San Francisco sounded perfect.
"When do I leave?"
Mark looked surprised at my quick agreement. "Tomorrow, ideally. Plan for three days, maybe a week if things get complicated." He paused, studying my face. "You sure you're up for this? You look like hell, Hamilton. Didn't you just get back from that desert trip?"
I forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just readjusting to city life."
"If you say so." He didn't look convinced. "But seriously, what happened out there? You look worse now than before you left."
I swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "Just some personal stuff. Nothing serious. It's all in the past now."
Mark nodded slowly. "Well, if you need to talk..."
"I'm good," I said quickly. "Really. Looking forward to the Riverwalk visit, actually."
After Mark left, I stared at my computer screen without seeing it. Another trip. Another escape.
But as I began arranging my travel details, I felt a weight lifting. Three days upstate meant three days away from my apartment, away from the memories, away from the possibility of Daniel showing up at my door again.
Maybe by the time I got back, I'd have figured out what the hell was happening to me. Or maybe, if I was really lucky, I'd have forgotten all about it.