My heart is racing, and my mind is in conflict. I grab the pad of paper and pen with the hotel logo from the nightstand and scribble my number quickly on it. Folding it in half and then in half again, I move to his shirt and tuck it in the front pocket.
I may have made a rash decision with the pact, but I’ve given him a way out. I don’t know if he’ll take it, but I need to believe that what is meant to happen will in the end.
New York - Four and a half years later . . .
“I don’t understand?”
We had four great days. I was starting to get used to having Harrison around. And then California called, and he was right back on a plane. I miss his kisses all over my body and seeing his sleepy face in the morning. Although I like that we’re now texting, I prefer the old-fashioned way of communicating with him—face-to-face.
Five days apart from each other and we’ve resorted to him miming a fork and bringing it his mouth over live video. He says, “It’s food that’s served to you.”
I start to laugh. Fine. I’m busted. I still find him not only amusing, but quite endearing in his efforts to entertain me. “I know what dinner is, Harrison, but I’m lost on the date part.”
“Ohhh. That’s easy. It’s when someone, aka the date, comes to your building and picks you up to take you out for food, drinks, sex, whatever you want.”
I roll my eyes, and then start laughing. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“I actually do know that. One of my nannies used to call me irredeemable to my face and then would tell my mother what a delightful child I was.”
Huh? “Cute story . . . I guess.” Holding my finger up, I add, “You’re also frustrating.”
“Again, not the first one to call me that. But you mean it in an utterly adorable way, right? Not like this mean nanny I had at five used to call me?”
Staring at him, I say, “Yeah, totally. How many nannies did you go through?”
He lies in bed, exposing those manly hairs on his chest—maintained, but still enough for me to run my fingers over. He woke up just to spend time with me. I’m glad he did. It just makes my heart ache a little to know this might be it for the day.
With a chuckle, he replies, “A few, but who’s counting?”
“Your mom most likely.” I giggle. Wiping the mascara wand on the bottle, I say, “I just don’t understand why we can’t order in when you get back? I like being home with you and the last option you mentioned.” Leaning forward, I open my mouth as I put on mascara like I’m performing surgery—meticulous to coating each lash individually.
“The sex? You like the sex, Tate. That’s good to hear because I can’t wait to be with you again.”
“I just miss spending time with you.”
“That’s music to my ears, but we’ve gone from zero to sixty in a matter of two weeks at best. I’m not complaining, but I feel like I’ve failed you in some ways.”
“You haven’t.”
“Let me take you out on a date.” I hold up the phone to see his face and smile when I do. He’s lying on his side, appearing ready to fall asleep again.
Can I really deny him something he wants so badly? “If it means that much to you—”
“It does.”
“Okay,” I reply, kissing the screen and wishing it was really him. I move back into the bedroom to retrieve my shoes. “What should I wear?”
“Something that makes you feel pretty.”
“How about something that you think is pretty on me?” I waggle my eyebrows at the phone.
“No. I think you’re gorgeous with nothing on or dressed for a party and every way in between. So wear what makes you feel your best because you’re beautiful to me.”
Swooning was something I thought only happened in fairy tales, the movies, or romance novels but never to me. Yet here I am, about to fall backward on the mattress needing a moment to recover from his charm. “You make it hard to go to work.”
“You make it hard.”
“Only a couple of times last night,” I say, giving him a wink.
Holding the phone to his mouth, he kisses me. I hope we always start our day together, whether he’s here or there.
We could, whispers a voice in the back of my head.
This could be my life.
All I have to do is not screw it up.
He asks, “How’s six thirty tomorrow night?”
Just take it.
“That works.” I can tell he’s tired. New York being three hours ahead gives me the advantage. “I think you’re wonderful.”
“Oh yeah?” He licks his lips, and it’s seriously distracting. “What happened to incorrigible and frustrating?”