Hannah. (Van Den Bosch #7)

Chapter 9

9

Johan

Phone in hand, the Uber app open, I walk halfway out the long driveway twice before deciding to stay. I’m so full of conflicting emotions that I can’t even pinpoint what I’m feeling right now. Part of me wants to leave terribly, but if I do, Hannah will know just how much her rejection broke me.

Because it did, in all sorts of unexpected ways, and even now that she’s told me she’s not interested, I want her just as much…maybe even more.

But Hannah has to be a decent person and worry about Astrid while I come out looking like the asshole for trying to let her down easily. I’ve lost both the girl I was dating and the girl that I’ve wanted for years. Now, what the hell am I supposed to do?

I rejoin the lively party, desperately trying to drown the intensity of our conversation in the cheerful atmosphere and laughter around me. It’s almost a full night now, but the estate’s back deck area is beautifully lit, and everyone seems to be having a great time. This will be a fake it until I make it situation for me; I know it.

Conrad spots me in seconds and disengages from the small group he is with, heading over with his usual cheerful grin.

“Vanished for a bit, didn't you?” he remarks, patting me on the shoulder. I offer a feeble grin.

“Just needed a moment,” I say, attempting to brush off the raw encounter I had with Hannah. “Had to use the restroom.”

He doesn’t leave, and I fall into the conversation with him with only half my mind, giving my friend one-word answers as I look elsewhere. Staying was a mistake. I should make an excuse to leave tonight so I don’t have to be in this house with two women who must be having very unhappy thoughts about me.

The words to tell Conrad I’m departing are right here on my tongue, but then, there she is—Hannah, gracefully stepping out of the house, her presence commanding attention without her even trying. Conrad spots her, too, his eyebrows arching appreciatively. His gaze follows mine, and when he notices me looking, he nudges me.

With a lowered voice, he throws a casual jab my way, “Don’t tell me you’re into the Dutch girl too?”

I hesitate, my frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Come on, Conrad,” I retort, my tone sharper than intended. “She's just a fresher, you know?”

It’s an instinctive defense, an attempt to push away the inexplicable pull I feel towards her. Even as I utter the words, an unsettling unease coils in my gut. A feeble denial in the face of something I can’t entirely comprehend—a blend of rejection, frustration, and a strange, undeniable attraction. For not the first time, I curse Elise in my mind for bringing her sister into my life, albeit unintentionally.

Conrad shrugs one shoulder and finishes the drink in his hand, patting me on the shoulder once more. “Fair enough, but that’s not a valid excuse for me. I’m going to talk to her. See you later.”

A surge of jealousy courses through me as Conrad effortlessly glides over to Hannah, his easy smile and casual conversation irking me to no end. Seriously, can’t the guy take a hint? His relentless pursuit only fuels my annoyance, and I can’t help but grit my teeth as I watch him work his charms on her.

Just as I’m mentally composing a scathing text to Astrid about Conrad’s antics, momentarily forgetting that she is not going to be interested in hearing my venting, my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Astrid, her name lighting up the screen.

The message is innocent enough, asking if I’m still around and if I can come up. But beneath those words, I sense her hope, her anticipation of my company. Does she want my attention because she hasn’t accepted that I don’t want to be as serious as she does, or will she try to convince me again that becoming official is the right move? I’m torn between wanting to be there for her and wanting to avoid her, knowing that she’s probably still pissed at me.

Fuck. I’m trapped. Hannah’s rejection still stings, lingering in my mind like a bitter aftertaste. Meanwhile, Astrid, who deserves nothing but honesty and devotion, is waiting upstairs, her trust in me like a knife in the gut after what happened with Hannah. All of this nonsense is making it hard to breathe and think clearly. The guilt gnaws at me. But at least Astrid’s room has to be better than being in the middle of this damned party watching my friend hit on the girl that has haunted me for ages.

I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. With a final glance around me at all the merry making going on, I close my eyes, resigned to my fate. Astrid, it is, then. I hope she isn’t planning on tearing my head off as soon as she sees me. Even if it is what I deserve.

After a long walk up the stairs and down the dimly lit hall, I knock on Astrid’s door and wait with my hands in my pockets. I hear her call a faint, “Come in,” and, just like I’ve done so many times, I turn the knob and enter.

To my surprise, though, Astrid’s bedroom envelops me in a warm, intimate glow, the soft lighting casting a gentle ambiance over the room. She stands, bathed in the subtle glow, her silk robe clinging delicately to her frame. Above the plunging neckline of her robe, I can see lacy black lingerie peeking through, and when she takes a step towards me, I see even more. She’s left the robe untied.

Pure male interest has me looking her up and down. God, she’s gorgeous. She always has been. If I didn’t fancy falling for Hannah, I’d kick myself for letting Astrid go. I don’t deserve her, and she definitely doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my indecisiveness.

When she is directly in front of me, Astrid stops, reaching up to smooth my collar as she speaks.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said about commitment and all that,” she begins, her voice soft and seductive. Her eyes search mine for reassurance, for a promise of something more. “I think I get it now. We’re young; there’s no need to rush things, right?”

The sincerity in her eyes tugs at my heart, and for a moment, I’m tempted to give in, to succumb to the comfort of her embrace and the promise of a future together. Astrid’s openness, her willingness to take things slow, her maturity beyond her years…it’s everything I should be grateful for. Yet, a nagging voice in my mind reminds me of the unresolved tension downstairs, Hannah’s rejection, and the allure of what could have been. What could still be. I’m not going to give up all that easily.

My mind is ripped from the party downstairs back to Astrid when her fingers brush against mine, a tender caress, and I can feel the strength of her emotions seeping into my very bones. It’s an invitation, but for what? Astrid deserves someone fully committed, someone who can reciprocate her openness and affection without reservation.

Swallowing hard, I grab her wrists to stop her from touching me. “Astrid, that’s not–”

Astrid’s sudden boldness catches me off guard, and as she shushes me, I find myself being gently tugged further into the room. The door clicks shut behind us, sealing off the world outside and leaving us totally alone.

“Let’s just have fun,” she murmurs, her lips finding mine in a hungry, desperate kiss. Confusion clouds my judgment as her warmth envelops me, her closeness filling the room with an intoxicating energy.

The taste of her lips is familiar yet foreign, tinged with desperation, cigarette smoke and…alcohol? I pull back slightly, my eyes searching hers for answers. “Have you been drinking up here?” I ask, my voice cautious, my senses on high alert.

“No, why are you even asking?” she responds, and when I try to tell her that I can taste it on her tongue, she corrects herself, “I had a glass of wine before I texted you. But just for courage. That’s all.”

“For courage?” I clarify, trying to make sense of her sudden change in demeanor. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“It was just a matter of miscommunication,” she says, her words rushed as if trying to convince herself as much as me. “If you aren’t ready for us to be official, that’s fine. I don’t want to stop whatever has been happening between us.”

A sense of déjà vu washes over me as I recall our earlier conversation. It’s been a little over an hour, and her mind has already changed…? Something about this doesn’t sit right with me, but there’s a gorgeous woman, clad in lingerie, leaning into me all warm, sweet, and willing. How in the hell can I tell her no?

I reach out, my fingers tracing the contours of her face, my touch gentle. “Astrid, I don't want to hurt you,” I tell her sincerely. “I care about you deeply, and I don't want to be the reason for any confusion or pain.”

“Why would this hurt me?” Her fingers are already working on the buttons of my shirt. “How could this hurt me when I want it so much? When I want you so much?”

Oh, hell. I’m torn between what I should and want to do. The scent of Astrid's perfume, the warmth of her touch—it's all there. But beneath it all, there's a gnawing ache, a void left by Hannah's rejection.

My heart screams for me to be honest, tell Astrid the truth, and spare her from being a temporary refuge for my bruised ego. Yet, the sting of Hannah's rejection is too fresh, too raw. I can't summon the strength to hurt someone else when I’m already wounded. The softness of her body and the comfort of her touch is too difficult to resist.

With a heavy sigh, I brush my fingers against her cheek, a silent acknowledgment of the affection I genuinely hold for her. It might not be love, and she might not be Hannah, but…we have something. There’s no reason it can’t continue.

“Fine, if that’s truly what you want.” My voice’s barely audible, my own words sounding like a betrayal to my heart. “Let's enjoy the evening together, then.”

Despite the hollowness in my chest, I decide to immerse myself in her. Cupping her face, I give in, kissing her soundly and trying to turn my brain off. Astrid, oblivious to my internal struggle, clings to me.

I press on, pretending, for her sake and perhaps for mine too, that everything is alright, that I’m not nursing a shattered heart, and that I can be content in her arms.