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“You’re a psych ward,” I retorted, scowling and sending him chuckling into his palm. “Honestly, though, some women work out to look good. I work out so I can eat,” I groaned.
“You’ve always looked good to me.”
I bit my lip, shaking my head as he eyed me up and down like I didn’t just stuff my face like I was about to be put to death. “Ready to pass out?”
Broderick grinned but stood abruptly. “Hang on. One last bucket list item.”
“Are we dying?”
“Slowly but surely,” he said with a smirk before vanishing... into the bathroom? The crash of water confirmed my suspicion, but I still furrowed my brows skeptically as his head popped back around the corner. “Coming, Pix?”
“To take a bath?”
“Humor me,” he called back. Shaking my head, I rounded the corner to a very-naked Broderick, thoroughly appreciating that perky backside as he stepped into the immense tub. When he caught me ogling, his brows winged up.
“Appreciating the view?” he asked, throwing my previous words back at me.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
If I wasn’t braced for it, his smile could have knocked me on my ass. “Come on, baby. Let me take care of you.”
Well, how was a woman supposed to say no to that? Smiling to myself, I accepted his outstretched hand and gingerly stepped into the hot water. When we were both safely seated, I leaned back into his chest, his legs settling to either side of my hips as those broad hands wrapped around me, giving my breasts a little squeeze before dunking a washcloth and running it across my decolletage. Heaven. I’d survived the week of hell and ended it in heaven. Once he’d painstakingly washed me down, my hair included, Broderick relaxed into the bubbles, pulling me against him and weaving our fingers together. My light tan was in stark contrast to his rich, warm brown. He sighed blissfully, bringing our threaded fingers to my chest. Chills coasted over my skin when he leaned in to whisper in my ear.
“Pierce may have won the grant, but I promise you, I’m the one walking away with the greatest prize, baby. You’re all I ever wanted, and never dared to ask for.”
“So… we’ll talk?”
“Yeah,” I agreed cheerily the following morning, even though nothing in my body was remotely cheery. Our sex-a-thon gave way to the brutal reality that we were flying to two very different cities today. I was standing outside the gate for Seattle, staring at the man I always wanted, and only finally tasted, wishing his flight had room for me. It didn’t. He’d checked first thing this morning and again when we checked in for our respective departures. Broderick had classes on Monday, and I had a meeting with the team tomorrow after Chris wrapped up church. So, there was no delaying the inevitable. He had his duffle thrown over his shoulder, fingers hooked in mine, his other hand cradling the back of my neck.
Seeing right through my facade, Broderick hooked his finger beneath my chin, lifting it and bringing his mouth to mine in a caress that felt way too much like goodbye for my liking.
Everything ached. And it wasn’t just the fact that I was walking like an old west cowboy who’d ridden their steed for too long. I’d never understood why women talked about holding a cold soda can between their legs until Broderick eviscerated me wholeheartedly. Sounded like it might soothe at this point. It was this soul-deep fracture through my chest. Because I didn’t want to let go of his wrists, where I’d wrapped my fingers around them, trapping his broad hands cradling my face.
Eyes stinging, I decided closing them was safest as I leaned into his hand, kissing his palm. “Maybe forcing ourselves to be out of arms’ reach will be good on the communication front? Force us to talk,” I suggested, working to keep my tone light when I just wanted to crumble. Because even if I couldn’t define it, something had changed irrevocably last night.
“I still say we found better uses for our mouths.”
I snickered despite myself, a flush creeping up in my cheeks. Judging by the smug little smile he gave me as he ran a thumb over one side, he saw it. Enjoyed the effect he was having on me. “Obviously,” was my choked reply.
“Come on, Pix. You can’t cry. You know I won’t get on the plane if you cry.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“The university would say it’s a terrible thing.”
“Yeah,” I grumbled, hanging my head forlornly.
“We’ll talk,” he repeated. “I’ll come see you in Chicago after Thanksgiving.” When I just nodded, he added, “We can go see Pax play a game. Eat some deep-dish pepperoni pizza—the genuine stuff.” I nodded again. But he lifted my chin for the second time, those dark eyes boring into mine. “Tell me we’ll be okay, Pix. Tell me you’re in this.”
“I’m in this,” I repeated, lifting my chin, feigning a strength I certainly didn’t feel. “We’ll talk.”
“Okay,” he said, sighing as the attendant made the final call for his flight. My chest physically ached as he kissed me one last time, and I palmed at my heart. ‘I love you’ sprinted down my mouth but got trapped on the tip of my tongue. Too soon. No use in being the crazy overbearing girlfriend, even if I’d always known it.
Letting him walk down that ramp was one of the hardest things I’d done in my life.
Broderick
The week leading up to Thanksgiving break was one of the longest of my life. Catching up on grading papers, teaching lectures, and my morning and evening calls with Elora were the highlights. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted to wake up with her in my arms, kiss her breathless before she went out the door in the morning, pleasure her into that euphoric comatosed sleep at night.
