I shot up into a full seated position for what reason I didn’t know, but the cucumbers slipped off my eyes and plopped onto my lap. The creak of my chair was loud enough to cut through the ambient noise. Both Mike and Derrik lifted a cucumber to peak at me. Slowly, Iplucked both the slices off my robe and lay back in my chair. Leaning back in my lounge, I tried to replace the cucumbers with a modicum of dignity.
“You good?” Mike asked.
I hummed an answer.
“What happened?”
“Thought”—I searched for anything to say other than something along the lines that I might kill my cousin—“...a bug.”
“Anyway,” Derrik began, “we were talking, and she’s funny and cute, but then we got to her door, and Gene showed up all grumpy and shit and killed the vibe.”
“You showed up at her door?” Mike demanded.
“Our suites are right next to each other.”
“What a coincidence.”
Something thudded on Derrik’s seat as if he’d flung his hand. “That’s what I said, but this guy did his whole, ‘Sure’ thing.”
“Nothing fazes Gene.”
If only he knew how many different phases I was passing through from minute to minute.
In my robe pocket, my phone buzzed. Like a teenager careful of every creaking floorboard, I took hold of the device with one hand and lifted one cucumber slice with the other. She was finally replying to my question wondering where she’d gone.
Cute as hell Sadie: I wanted to let you sleep.
I let my head fall back against the chair, and my arm down at my side—hiding my phone from Derrik and Mike, not that they seemed to notice what I was doing anyway.
I only had two more nights with her before we went back to Chicago, and she went back to not answering my texts. Or more accurately, I would honor her boundary and only email her for work.
I didn’t want to sleep.
I didn’t want to spend a single second away from her.
I wanted to wring every memory from every moment with only her.
No wonder I’d avoided feelings of attachment for so many years. This was absolute agony.
Chapter 18
Sadie
Iwas mostly done with my makeup, when Jamison knocked on my door. He was exactly on time, like usual. I was running late, like usual. Sending him a,Give me one minutetext, I finished applying mascara for the second time that day, ran my fingers through my hair falling in waves around my shoulders, and snagged my sweater off my bed on my way to the door. Opening it, I found him leaning against the wall in white slacks and an olive green, short-sleeved, knit shirt. Behind his glasses, his eyes traveled from my bare feet and legs, up my torso, taking his time as if every detail of me needed to be observed.
When he met my gaze, he swallowed and held out a bouquet of peonies in a vase clutched in his grip for me. I had to use both hands to take it from him.
My stomach flipped, and a smile spread across my face. “What is this for?”
“Just...” He trailed off, shrugging one shoulder with his hands stuffed deeply inside the pockets of his pants. He looked so unsure, out of his element—as if he were nervous about what I’d think.
“Well, thank you.” Sticking my nose in the bouquet, I breathed in the sweet smell.
Inside my ribs, my heart swelled, and everything became a bit brighter and lighter.
I turned my back to him, unable to deal with the resurfacing delusions. That scenario had already played out, and he’d been so oblivious he hadn’t even registered that I could want a relationship with him. I would not fall back into the pattern of telling myself he meant something different than he did. Accepting that he would eventually break my heart, again, was one thing. Convincing myself that he was in emotional turmoil over me was another thing all together.
It’d just be so much easier, if I didn’t want it so badly.
