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“I wanted to see you.” She shrugs.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“Hey.” Her eyes soften. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I let her touch me.”
“Brock.” She smiles. “She put her hand on your arm.”
“She’s not you.”
“I trust you. We have to have that trust with your job.”
“I know. I just hate sneaking around. I hate that you’re not here with me. I hate that it’s been days since I’ve held you and kissed your lips.”
“This is our reality.”
“No. If you were mine openly, I’d bring you with me.”
“That’s not feasible.”
“The hell it’s not.” I say.
“A waste of money.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s worth every cent in my bank account.”
That earns me another one of her beautiful smiles. The one that lights up her face. “Now you’re just talking crazy.”
“We have to tell him, Sunshine.”
“I know. Just a little longer.”
“Okay, baby. If that’s what you want.” I hate lying to him, but I can’t say no to her.
“Were you sleeping?” I ask when I finally calm down to notice she’s in bed.
“Just reading.” She pulls the phone away, and I can see she’s wearing a Ramblers T-shirt.
“Is that mine?”
She points to her chest. “We’re both yours.”
I can only imagine what my face looks like. Cartoon heart eyes and a gigantic red heart is pulsing in and out of my chest. I swallow thickly as I take in her smile. “This is real—you and me. I’m not just passing the time or playing around. You’re important to me.”I love you.“I want you. Not just for a few days or weeks—” I pause, collecting my thoughts. I’m afraid if I tell her forever, it will scare her away, and I can’t have that. “You’re mine, Josephine Grace Henderson.”
“Are you mine? You’re staking your claim. I’ve told you that I’m yours, but are you mine, Brock?” she challenges.
She knows damn good and well that I’m hers. My girl just wants to hear me say it. “Every piece of me,” I tell her. “All that I am is yours.”
“Careful, Williams, I might make you fall in love with me.” She grins.
I open my mouth to tell her it’s too late, but she moves around, dropping her phone. When she reappears on the screen, she’s snuggled under the blankets, her glasses no longer perched on her nose.
“You tired?” I ask her.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll let you go.” I say the words reluctantly. I could talk to her all night, but if she’s tired, I want her to get her rest. I wonder if it sounds creepy to ask her to just prop the phone up next to her so I can watch her sleep?
