He spoke into my eyes. “I’m not planning on sleeping with anyone else. And I expect you won’t either. I thought we settled that in the bathtub yesterday.”
My voice came out faint. “Okay.”
“I take it this is about the message I gave you earlier?”
I nodded.
“You want to know what I think about you spending the night alone in your apartment having dinner and watching a movie with the putz?”
I nodded again.
“Alright.” He looked away, seeming to contemplate his answer for a moment, and then said, “I like you. I like the way you listen to people’s bullshit problems all day but still believe there’s a reason to work through things. I like that you’re up for anything—that you like staying in and watching old movies, or going out to a pool hall. I like the way your eyes light up when you talk about your parents. I really like the way it feels when I’m inside of you and the way you moan my name when you’re about to come. I like that you made me coffee before you left this morning, and I even like that you’re concerned what I’ll think about you having dinner with Professor Pansyass.”
He paused. “I think all that should tell you that for me, there’s more here than just fucking. That being said, I’ll tell you straight out that I hate the thought of you snuggling up on the couch to watch a movie with some dickhead you’ve been in love with for three years. But I’m not going to ask you not to spend time with him. That’s a decision you need to make on your own, and I’ll deal with whatever you choose because I realize my trust issues come from a place that has nothing to do with you.”
I swallowed. That was a lot to take in at once. And it was way more than I’d expected him to commit to. “Okay.”
“We good? Because I have four hours to do eight hours worth of work before I hop on a plane so my lazy-as-shit ex-wife can complain about the traffic getting my son to the airport while I fly nine hundred miles to pick him up and then turn right back around and fly another nine hundred miles back home. And I need at least a half hour of those four hours freed up so I can fuck you bent over your desk. Because you might have made me coffee this morning, but you didn’t stay long enough for me to come inside of you, and I plan to remedy that before I head to the airport.”
My head might have been spinning, but I knew one thing for sure. There was nothing I wanted more than for Drew to get his work done and make good on his plans.
I pushed up on my tippy toes and kissed his lips. “Go. What are you standing here for? You have work to get done.”
Chapter 30
Drew
“Look how long her legs are.”
Screw biology; this boy was definitely my son. Beck was staring at a flight attendant with the longest stems I’d ever seen. She reached up to tuck some luggage in the overhead compartment above the seat in front of us and caught Beckett leaning into the aisle and staring.
“What’s your name?” She smiled down at him.
“Beckett Archer Jagger.”
He’d said it so proudly, I didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t normal to recite your first, middle, and last name to strangers. The flight attendant snapped the overheard bin closed and knelt down next to him.
“Well, hello, Beckett Archer Jagger. I’m Danielle Marie Warren, and you’re adorable. How old are you, sweetie?”
“I’m six-and-three-quarters.”
“Six-and-three-quarters, huh? Well, I’m thirty-one-and-a-half.” She winked at me and continued talking to Beck. “Only I usually round down from thirty-one-and-a-half—to twenty-seven. Can I get you something to drink, six-and-three-quarter-year-old Beckett Archer Jagger? Maybe some juice?”
He nodded. Then added, “You have legs like a giraffe.”
“Beck,” I scolded.
The flight attendant laughed. “It’s okay. I’ve gotten that before. When I was your age, the kids used to make fun of me for having long legs.” She pointed to her name badge, which read Danny. “My name is Danielle, but everyone calls me Danny for short. And when I was in elementary school, the boys used to call me Danny Long Legs. You know…” She wiggled her fingers. “…like the long-legged spider bugs? Daddy long legs.”
Beckett chuckled. “My mom has a nickname for my dad.”
“She does? I bet it’s something better than Daddy Long Legs.”
I interrupted. “Not sure we want to repeat any of the nicknames Mommy uses for Daddy these days.” I looked at the flight attendant and explained, “Divorced.”
She smiled and winked. “Well, how about I get you some juice before we take off? And something special for Daddy, too?”
A few minutes later, she came back carrying apple juice in a plastic cup with a lid and straw and a glass with two fingers of clear liquid over ice.