This Love Hurts (This Love Hurts 1)

That’s where his message stopped and I’m quick to respond before I think too much about anything he said in this text and focus only on that kiss under the lights in the parking garage.

Don’t think about it, just take me home tomorrow night.

Delilah

Even with the curtains closed, the sun creeps in, waking me from a much-needed deep sleep. My eyes are heavy at first, but my body is so relaxed and at ease. The blush comforter, two shades lighter than the matching curtains, slips down my body as I sit up, stretching and note that the side of my bed Cody slept on last night is empty. I can’t help but to touch it and when I do I find it’s cold.

He left already.

He’s good at that. We leave separately from the bar, and meet back here. At least we have the last two weeks. Thus the relaxed muscles and deep sleeps. A good fuck is a miracle worker for the tired mind and sore body.

Letting out an ungodly long yawn, I stare down the paperwork that litters the top of my dresser. I worked magic in this apartment to give it a mature, fresh and feminine feel. A place I could hide away and forget all the bullshit and hardness of my day job. Who was I kidding? Every surface of the bright white furniture is covered with evidence of what I do. The fact is, I bring my job home. Always. It’s not about being a workaholic; it’s simply that I can’t let go of things that matter.

There’s a memory for every inch of this room. Moments when haunting evidence seemed to unveil a truth to me in the late hours when I couldn’t sleep.

I can make this room as pretty as a page out of a home décor magazine and it still wouldn’t matter.

The silk sheets rustle as I get up and that’s when I see the note on the bedside table between the alarm clock blinking 12:00 in bright red. In other words, someone in the unit tripped the fuse again. With a frustrated exhale, I check my cell phone for the time and fix the clock before reading the note Cody scribbled out for me.

Going to New York for a case. I’ll miss you.

Two sentences are all he wrote, but the last one leaves a smile on my face.

Opening the drawer, I slip it inside with the two others he left me.

The first:

I’m sorry about the last few days, but not about the part in your bed. Call me whenever you want. Or text. I’ll be waiting and I’ll try not to kiss you whenever some prick eye fucks you at the bar. And yes… I meant it when I said you look sexy with that silk scarf in your hair.

The second one he left is inconsequential, like this one, but I keep it anyway because it makes me smile. Nothing has changed at work between us and there haven’t been any other incidents. If Aaron or anyone else suspects we’re seeing each other, they keep it out of the gossiped conversations in the break room. Or at least they haven’t had the nerve to confront me.

My bare feet pad on the floor and I wrap the belt to my thin cotton peach robe with cream lace tight around my waist as I make my way to the kitchen. Today’s my first day off in … Lord knows how long. Coffee and then I promised myself I’d relax. Truly take a moment and read or maybe I could take my sister out to get our nails done. It’ll be a little over an hour drive for each of us, there’s a shopping mall halfway between us. It’s perfect for our get-togethers. She’s barely spoken to me since our last call. We’ve had our ups and downs but of everyone in this world she’s my rock. Only a year and four days apart, we’ve gone through life together. Everything that’s happened, every milestone and pitfall.

We fought like cats and dogs in high school and I even have a faint scar on my face from one spat where she scratched me. College came and we drifted apart for a moment; the photos on my fridge are proof of the distance. So many pictures of when we were children, then nothing of us together until I was a junior in college and her a sophomore. I went for a law degree, following my father’s path. My sister went for psychology. We studied together, partied together. We were each other’s wingwoman in every way. My mother always said we’d be best of friends and that we needed to rely on each other. It’s odd for her to say that considering her falling-out with our aunt, but she was right.