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“There was an easy way to remedy that,” I mutter bitterly.
“Yeah, you could have called me.” His tone is on par with mine, making me wonder what right he has to the same emotion.
“If I’d had your number, I would have.” I mumble jackass under my breath.
“You did.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You should,” he angrily retorts.
“How do you figure that, genius?”
“I gave it to you at the airport when I put it in your bag. You were digging in your purse.”
“No,” I say, but it’s more to myself than it is him. “Were there toiletries in it?”
He stops and thinks. “I didn’t open it all the way, but yeah, I remember feeling what I thought was a hairdryer.”
“The airport lost it. They called yesterday to let me know they found it and would send it to me.” I’m even more thankful now that I’m getting it back because I want to save that letter.
“Oh.” The hurt I’d mistakenly believed was anger fades. Mine, however, lingers.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Instead of responding, he stands and walks to the mantle to grab a picture frame. Thrusting it at me, I immediately notice the problem. “It’s ripped.” My brain, now ready to be helpful when it appears as if this was all a misunderstanding and he didn’t intentionally break my heart, supplies what more than likely happened. “Crap. You’d gone in the bathroom to uh, clean up,” I state with a blush, “and I got the note out of my purse.” That damn accessory seems to enjoy messing with my love life. “It was stuck, though, so I had to tug on it. I yanked on it instead of seeing why because I knew I didn’t have long before you came out.” Tears in my eyes, I bow my head. “I’m so sorry.”
“I was still trying to find you.”
“How? We didn’t exchange any personal information like last names, where we lived, or,” I laugh, “our careers.”
This time he gets a spiral notebook from the coffee table in front of me and sits to my right. Opening it to the first page, I see the heading – count the ways – then flip through, my eyes taking in the various combinations that would complete my phone number. “I was going through them one by one. I wasn’t stopping until I figured it out.”
“That has to be…” I trail off at the mere thought of the numerous possibilities.
“Carry the three,” he teases as if he’s actually adding them up. “A lot.”
Grabbing the pen clipped to the front, I circle the correct sequence. Two after where he stopped, which is no doubt when we saw each other at school.
“Fate is a bitch.”
“That’s what I said,” he agrees, threading his fingers through mine.
“With that matter resolved, what about the other?” I ask, wishing I didn’t have to. “We can’t date. It’s forbidden.”
“We’ll think of something,” he vows. “I’m not losing you a second time.”
“Can we sneak around until we do?” I inquire, so ready to be with him again.
“Why Ms. O’Rourke, that’s very naughty of you.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
**Parker**
“Love you,” I answer without hesitation. “For the rest of my days.
“Awful convenient since I plan to love you for the rest of mine.” I take her lips, the taste of her promise lingering on them, and push her to her back. I can’t wait to have her in my bed. I need to be inside her right the fuck now.
“I’ve gotten myself off to thoughts of you every night since we parted,” I confess, needing her to know the depth of my pain, of my ache, for her.
