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“There’s nothing I’d rather do than spend the day with you.” The newspaper crinkles in protest when I lean over to kiss her. She meets me halfway, and our lips press together. “But I have court this afternoon.”
Flopping back to opposite sides of the couch, she says, “I’d take this morning.”
“Is that something you can do?”
“I have so much stockpiled time off and nothing scheduled that someone else can’t handle.”
“Then, why’d you have to use your lunch hour for the move?”
“They only count full days and I didn’t want to use a day when I only need an hour. I’ll take the day, but what do you say to skipping out for a few hours?”
“How can I say no? “I’ll text Ashleigh.” I reach for my phone, but she covers my hand.
“Maybe wait until six or seven.”
It’s incredible that the world already feels like it revolves around our plans. “Six. She’s used to it.”
“She shouldn’t be.”
“Good point, Miss Bell.” Technically, I shouldn’t be playing hooky with the possibility of partnership on the line, but Ashleigh will vouch for hours spent working from home. I set my phone back on the coffee table and pick up my ‘I’m not feeling worky today’ mug. “Something tells me you had this planned all along.”
She asks, “What should we do with the next six or seven hours?”
“Movies? Walk in Central Park? Shopping? Baseball Playoffs? Coffee? Go out for lunch? Whatever you want to do, I want, too.”
Closing her book, she tosses it to the coffee table and gets to her knees, crawling over to me. I toss the paper behind me, welcoming her onto my lap. “I want to stay in. However long I can have you.” She kisses me, and then dips to my ear to whisper, “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”
That is not where I saw this headed. Caught by surprise, I tick through a list of contenders. I could tell her I own the building or about how I found out I’m the frontrunner for partnership, but that’s bragging stuff. I know that’s not what she means or wants. Leaning my head back, I want the honor of seeing her face every night and every day. I don’t say that in fear of scaring her off, though. I need to find something in between.
I go with, “The shirt I was wearing the day we met has never been dry-cleaned.” Okay, that leans more toward creeper than a neutral admission, but it’s out in the open now.
“You tossed it?” I detect a note of disappointment as her eyes fixate on mine.
Shaking my head, I reply, “I still have it in a bag at the top of my closet.”
Running the tip of her finger down the bridge of my nose, she says, “I’m intrigued by the fact that you’d tell me that. That would totally creep out some women.” I have no doubt. She taps the tip of my nose. “I’m not one of them. Why’d you keep it?”
“Because some things are worth holding on to.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Wellington.” I love that I can see every emotion trailing across her face. “I have a confession. It’s going to make you really mad.” Despite the fact she knows it will upset me, a smile still wiggles the corners of her mouth.
We’re talking about Tealey Bell. How bad can it be? “I doubt it, but I’m ready. Confess away.”
“Senior year . . .” she starts but pauses, biting her lip. “Don’t hate me, okay?”
“I couldn’t.” If I were wearing a shirt, I might be tugging at my collar, though. She has a knack for amping up the suspense. I have no idea what she’s about to tell me, but I might need to brace myself, after all.
“Senior year at NYU, I ran into your date to the bowl game in the bathroom at that bar down from the stadium. We’d gone there to watch since we didn’t all get tickets.”
“I remember.” I nod. “We sold the three we had so we could all watch together.”
“Yep.” She smiles so sweetly that I’m wondering how this could possibly lead to something bad. “So, we were at that bar, and I needed to use the restroom. She was in there.”
“Okay.”
Her gaze pivots, and then she takes a deep breath and exhales. “I told her that we had just broken up, and she was a rebound.”
Not what I expected. “Kayla.”
“Yep.” She snaps her fingers. “Kayla. That’s right. I’d forgotten her name. She was very nice. Well, before I said that . . .”
Staring at her in disbelief, I try to remember how that worked out with Kayla. Ah. “She dumped me during halftime.”
Her arms tighten around my neck, and she kisses my face. Probably to hide the guilt. “I know.” She giggles. Guess there’s no guilt felt. “I’m a terrible person. I’m sorry yet . . . not at all sorry.”
