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I slam the rest of my shot. We'll need more of these. A lot more. Something to drown the thoughts that keep trying to surface.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Luke
I'm scared.
It's two little words. Two tiny words. Even if the initial shock is a kick to the throat, they're a good sign. Alyssa is talking to me. Not talking. Texting.
But it's something.
I check the time. Just after seven. She sent this hours ago, around one a.m. here. It's too early to call her. Too early for work.
This can only call for one thing--running until my legs are numb. I change into my shorts and slather on sunscreen. It smells like her, like her when she's at the pool or the beach at least. She's always on my case about wearing fucking sunscreen.
It's warm outside. The early morning light casts a white glow over everything. There's a softness to it, a certain lack of vibrancy.
It's just the morning. It doesn't mean anything.
She's trying to talk to me. It's not exactly a love poem, but it's something.
***
I stay busy at work, again. There is so much piling up. I have too many clients, and several of them are difficult. One woman, Mrs. Waters, has been in the throes of her divorce for almost a year. She rejects every one of her husband's very reasonable settlement offers, insisting she deserves more.
I have a conference or a meeting or a court date with Mrs. Waters every week for the next two months. But if I can convince her to settle, I have a free week at the end of next month.
And then, finally, I'll be able to visit Alyssa.
It's not the safest play. Mrs. Waters is keen to hold on until the end. She's either getting what she wants from her husband or she's getting her ass handed to her in court. In fact, she had some choice words last time I tried to talk her into accepting her husband's offer.
But I'll convince her this is the best offer she's going to get.
It is the best offer she's going to get.
I look at flights. It's a popular week to go to New York, dangerously close to the end of autumn, the last chance for anyone to see leaves changing colors.
Fuck it.
I have to be in New York with Alyssa. Mrs. Waters is going to have to come around. It's in her best interests.
I'll have to dial up my usual charms.
I book a flight to New York, and a trip for the two of us to Hawaii as soon as her play wraps, and email the details to Alyssa. She replies back with a smiley face and a promise to wear her skimpiest bikini.
I make preparations for the week. It needs to be perfect, out of this world amazing. It needs to be dinner at the finest restaurants, moonlit walks, trysts by a fireplace.
This is my best chance to erase all of Alyssa's doubts. I'm going to take it.
It's late when I finish. So late Alyssa must be done for the night. It may not seem like much, but "I'm scared" is practically a soul-baring confession for her.
I put my phone on speaker so I can undress while I call her. I have a change of clothes somewhere around here.
"Hey," she answers. Her voice is sweet but tired.
"Hey yourself." I remove my tie and undo the rest of the buttons of my shirt.
"I, um... I'm sorry I sent such a lame freaking text. I probably should have offered a little more."
