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Only it wasn’t. Not really.
Because I already missed him, and that was crazy. It was… ridiculous. Outrageously so. But there was this beating, breathing thing inside of me, demanding to be let out.
And just like that, it was as if a lightbulb had lit up in my head. One that was wired to the organ in the middle of my chest. I grabbed my laptop bag, pulling out my computer and plopping back down on the couch. I opened my manuscript and did the only thing I had known how to do once upon a time. I wrote about every single thing I didn’t know how to… handle. How to process. Every fear in my head, every powerful emotion raging in my heart, every terrifying question, and every suffocating certainty. Every hope. And I just wrote. I released them into my story, so I was able to untangle them the best way I knew. On paper.
Hours later, I was lying in bed. Wide awake.
I’d somehow managed to work until past midnight, and I’d thought that the exhaustion from the day and the productive writing session would knock me out. But nope.
I stared at the dark ceiling of my bedroom. Stealing glances at my phone. Wishing it would light up with a message or a call. Wishing I was brave enough to grab it and reach out myself.
But the screen remained pitch black. The device silent.
I wasn’t daring to do anything about it, and I was driving myself crazy.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I let out a groan.
There were so many unwritten rules about how women should behave with men they were interested in. Men they’d kissed and wanted to kiss again and again and again. But this was Lucas. This was me. It didn’t feel like those rules should apply to us.
I had seen him naked, beautifully imposing as he stood under the stream of water, with his hand on his dick. Hurting for me. Vulnerable. Powerful.
And before that, I had kissed him in the rain, not caring about anything but his lips, as they moved around mine.
I had danced with him tooursoundtrack, spinning in his arms while I bathed in his laughter.
I had comforted him when he’d had nightmares, wishing I could take the fear away.
I had let him hold my hand in his when I needed someone to comfort me. And I’d let something that had started like an experiment turn into something real.
The rules didn’t apply.
I was a grown-ass woman. I didn’t need a reason to send a message to him. To my friend. To one of my best friends. To the man I couldn’t stop thinking about.
I started for the phone. “Fuck it—”
And in that exact moment, the screen lit up.
Heart in my throat, I scrambled for it, managing to tangle my legs in the comforter and flinging myself to the ground. “Ouch! Dammit.”
From my position sprawled on the carpet, I stretched an arm and grabbed the device from the nightstand, not bothering to return to the bed. It was a text.
Lucas:I might have separation anxiety.
My lips stretched into the biggest, most ridiculous grin ever, and my fingers rushed to type an answer.
Rosie:I thought only pets got that.
Lucas:You’re up.
Lucas:Did I wake you?
Rosie:Nope. I was wide awake. I’ve been working for hours.
Lucas:That makes me happy. How many words?
Rosie:Lots
Lucas:That’s my girl.
