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Chapter Fifteen
“Your touch is poetry I want to write.”
-Josh Walker
Warren
I’m currently working on my latest poem, trying to find the words I want to say to work through some of my frustration. I had gone into work on Monday feeling better than ever, lighter than I’d ever been before. The whole “floating on a cloud” thing when you were falling for someone was real.
Not something I had ever experienced before, but here I was, ready to scream from the rooftops how I’d fallen for this amazing woman.
After I’d handed Jane her flowers and we’d spent a not nearly adequate enough amount of time learning how the other’s lips felt—office hookups could be a fun thing, and I was ready to explore that option as soon as I could—Jane had stopped me from taking it any further to tell me something I didn’t want to hear.
“Wait, hold on.” She smiles at me and pulls back a little, taking herself out of the little bubble we’d created. “I think that we should keep this quiet.”
My hands involuntarily stiffen on her waist, my smile dimming slightly. “What do you mean?”
She waves a hand in the air, not realizing she has the bouquet in her hand still and whacks me in the face. “Oh sorry!” She pats my cheek and then kisses it, easing the burn. Of which there was none, but I wasn’t ever going to complain when this woman’s mouth was on me. “So, anyway, I think while we’re at the office, this should be a secret. Like, I don’t think telling people is a good idea.”
“Telling people?” I ask, confused. Though we’d had our first official date on Friday, we’d been hitting it off for weeks and I was more than ready to let everyone know that Jane was mine—and off-limits to anyone who thought they’d had a chance.
“Yeah, like for instance, my mother would not…” She hesitates at the word and winces.
I steel myself and offer, “Approve?”
She nods and I feel my heart deflate a little. I knew her mom had a strong hold on her, I knew this. But it still stung.
“I’m sorry.” Noting the look on my face, I’m sure, she adds almost sadly, “I understand if this isn’t what you want.”
I squeeze her hips tightly, working through the words in my head slowly. “That’s not it,” I admit and then press a kiss to her lips, because I fucking can. “I just have no problem telling people about my feelings for you.”
“Warren,” she says on a whisper. “I want to tell people, eventually. I just have to get through to my mom. I don’t want to ambush her. I want to explain how marrying Jasper is the last thing I want to do. Then she’ll understand.”
I rein in the anger at the mention of the pretentious douchebag. Then I look into Jane’s eyes, her sincerity in her request has that initial disappointment disappearing. Was she worth waiting for? No doubt in my mind. That didn’t mean I had to like it.
But I would do it. I would keep quiet for her.
“Okay, love. We can keep it quiet.” And the beaming smile I got at my words eased the sting of disappointment. At least for now.
“I have dinner!” Enzo’s voice echoes throughout the apartment and the mention of food has my stomach rumbling loudly. I had intended on asking Jane to dinner tonight, but she had some event she had to be at with her mother that kept her busy.
I didn’t mind, not really. I wasn’t a big event person. But I was looking forward to the end of the night when she would call me, and we would chat for so long that we’d both have to run on caffeine and the high of falling for someone tomorrow.
I never promised I wouldn’t be cheesy. I am a literal poet.
Well, some days I am when I can actually manage to get the words down.
I meander into the kitchen where Archer, Enzo, and Garrett are digging into the takeout Enzo brought home. “Is this from your restaurant?”
Enzo nods and licks a finger. “Yup, they made too much and I wouldn’t let them throw it out.”
“They’d throw this out?” I take in the professional, high-end food and frown. “But it’s all perfectly fine.”
“Yeah, it pisses me right off.” Enzo replies, stacking a plate high with pasta. “I’m working on convincing the owner to at least donate some of it to a local shelter, but there’re rules and regulations they have to follow.”
“I’m pretty sure the homeless couldn’t give a fuck less about where the food comes from,” Garrett chimes in, taking his plate to the table.
“That’s what I said. I’m going to make it happen, don’t worry. It’s ridiculous to waste food when there are starving people.”
