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“I understand what ‘we’ means.”
“Okay, both of you were a team at that moment. That’s my point. It may be too late for you. You may already be a permanent member. Welcome to the roster, brother.”
“Pfft. Permanent . . .” I grumble. “You two are absurd, so I’m going to leave you to it.”
Harbor sits back down and laughs. “You know we’re only giving you a hard time, right, Loch? You’re allowed to have a life outside the law firm. You haven’t had one in years. Right, Dad?”
Throwing his hands up in surrender, my dad chimes in, “If you can speak some sense into him, you’re doing better than I am.”
“No one needs to speak anything into me. You guys entertain each other. I’m taking off.”
I can hear Harbor chuckling as I walk away. “See you at Thanksgiving.”
Flipping him the bird while leaving, I say, “See you then.” We don’t hold grudges. I’m not even upset, but that was getting out of hand. Mainly because I’m not sure what Tuesday and I are other than new to this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing.
We’ve moved at the speed of light so far, but I’m not in a hurry to rush this along. I have a feeling she feels the same. Taking it day by day is the best way to approach it.
I decide to walk home. I’m in sneakers, and the time could help clear my head. Cutting through a park, I take another route that allows me to shoot across to my street.
“Dreams change.”
Harbor’s words repeat like a broken record in my mind.
There wasn’t an ounce of regret in his tone when he confessed. Is it priorities or dreams that are changing, adapting to who we are at that moment? Or do we just lose sight of what we once strived toward?
Did something better come along?
Work is a distraction. Nothing more than a way to bide my time until she comes home.
I’ve gotten dressed and am sitting here ready for dinner plans we never made, thinking she’ll want to go out. But as the hours tick by with no texts, calls, and nothing that gives me a sense that Tuesday is safe, I find myself rereading the same thing. I can’t concentrate any longer, needing to know where she is. But I can’t control what she does.
I can’t control her.
I would never want to.
But the more time passes, the more I wonder what she’s really doing. Worrying won’t make her come back any faster. All I’m doing is creating a distraction for myself. And distracted people make mistakes.
Have I ever been this worried about a woman?
I know the answer. No, because I love her. She’s the best distraction I could ever have.”
“Loch?” I hear as if she heard my worries.
I look up from the desk.
Her silhouette fills the doorway to my office, and she asks, “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“I didn’t realize it had gotten dark.” I’m in the smallest room in my apartment, with a lackluster view, caught between missing her, the concern of not knowing if she was okay or even returning, and unwarranted anger. I look out the window to temper my mood.
When she comes around the desk, she swivels the chair and positions herself on my lap. Cupping my face, she leans her head against mine. “What’s wrong?”
“I . . .” I sound like a possessive idiot.
Leaning to the side, she kisses my cheek and again near my ear before whispering, “Talk to me, Loch. Tell me what’s wrong.”
The words that explain the battle in my brain don’t come. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be fair to put that on her to make me feel better. So I kiss her, burying my fear of losing her to an unknown life that could claim her any day.
Kissing is sweet, but that’s not enough to satisfy the hunger I didn’t know I had until I tasted her again. I grab her hips and angle her my way. “Hey,” she starts, but then she feels my hands sliding under her waistband and dipping into the front of her jeans. “Oh.”
The denim is tight around her waist, so tight that I can’t fit my hand in easily. “New clothes?” I growl.
“Just a few.” She unbuttons the top and lifts just barely to unzip.
“I don’t like them.”
She laughs. “You don’t like them because you don’t have easy access to me?”
“Exactly.”
She lifts again, this time taking her jeans down. “Better?” she asks, her voice lowering to fit the mood.
“Not yet.” I move her hair to the side, but everything is too bulky, covering too much of her body. “Stand up and take the sweater off.” She stays seated on me for a few seconds before she stands, pulling her sweater over her head and setting it on the desk in front of her.
