Perfect Love Story (Love 1)

When the alarm sounds softly, I groan and reach out for it. But my hand is pressed into my bed. I roll over, taking Hailey with me, her groan of frustration filling the room. My chest tickles from her hair. After attacking each other at the door, she refused to let me put on a shirt, so we made out on my bed most of the night. Until we fell asleep. “It’s five thirty,” I tell her, kissing her neck, and she mumbles something. It takes me ten more minutes to get her up, and when I kiss her goodbye, the sun is up, and it hurts to watch her walk away.

I pick up my phone, texting my mother.

Can you watch Mila this weekend?

I put my phone down and pour a cup of coffee. My phone rings. I grab it when I realize it’s my mother.

“Hello, Mother,” I say. Looking at the time, I see it’s almost six. “You’re up early.”

“I could say the same to you. Busy day ahead?” she asks.

“Yeah, somewhat. I have a couple of jobs to check out. Nothing more than usual.” I take a gulp of coffee.

“So how about I take Mila on Friday and bring her back Monday? It would give you a good break. You could grab the boys and go fishing.”

Except the boys are the furthest thing from my mind. The only thing I’ll be doing is learning every single part of Hailey. “Sounds great,” I tell her, and we make plans for her to pick Mila up tomorrow. I make Mila breakfast as soon as she wakes, and my day goes by at a snail’s pace. I get a text that night from Hailey asking about my day as soon as I put Mila down.

I don’t bother texting her. “My day was long as fuck. How was yours?” I say when she answers.

“It was good, long also. I’m just climbing into bed. I have a killer headache.”

“Do you, why?” I ask, going to my own room.

“No clue, maybe the computer.” I hear rustling, knowing she is getting under the covers.

“So do you have plans for dinner tomorrow?” I ask her as I hear her laugh.

“Crystal and I are bringing Blake to check out the local band at the pub.”

“Oh, you’ll like that,” I tell her.

“Do you want to meet me there?” she asks.

I smile. “I would love to meet you there.”

We talk for about an hour. I hear her voice getting lower and lower and then ever so soft, so I tell her sweet dreams. She whispers them back to me, and I stay on the line after she hangs up. She is on my mind the whole night, and I dream of her and her laugh. The next day, I rush through what has to get done. I’m just getting home when she texts me to meet her at seven.

I shower and change the sheets, hoping she’ll come home with me tonight. I pull out my black jeans and brown long-sleeve shirt. Pulling the sleeves up, I grab my watch and run my fingers through my hair. I pull up to the pub five minutes after seven.

I walk in, not sure where she will be sitting, but my eyes don’t move far because she is standing near the bar. My heart stops in my chest as she looks over her shoulder. “Holy fuck,” I say to myself as I take her in. She is wearing the tightest pair of blue jeans ever invented. Her white shirt hangs off both shoulders, and her sleeves go all the way to her wrists. Her hair is in curls and pulled over one bare shoulder. I look down to see she is wearing tan strappy fucking heels. When she smiles at me, I see a gold choker on her thin neck. My cock spring into action as my jeans tighten so hard I thank god the lights are dim and hopefully no one can see me saluting.

As I make my way to her, she turns to talk to the bartender, ordering something. “Hey,” I say, my hand coming out to hold her hip, and she leans over to kiss my cheek.

“I’m all by myself,” she tells me. “Blake left early, something about having a situation that required his help.” The bartender returns with a glass of wine for her and a bottle of beer. “I ordered you a beer.”

“You look beautiful,” I tell her, my tongue dry from looking at her. She looks down, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Thank you,” she whispers in my ear, leaning over to make sure I hear. “You look hot yourself.” She smiles, taking a sip of wine. I look into her eyes and see a twinkle, and I’m wondering if she’s thinking the same thing I’m thinking.