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My chest tightens with her truth. That’s exactly how I want her to feel, and her admission alleviates the panic that held me by the throat just a moment ago.
I stroke my fingers through her hair, and a moment later, she snores softly, the wine getting the best of her.
She’s comfortable enough to sleep in my lap, and that fact has me pushing through the discomfort of fighting. Fighting to make myself believe this could be possible, that I could have what I once had, again, and deserve it.
I stroke her hair and look at her body next to me, enjoying her warmth. After a few minutes, I pull her entire body into my lap, rock forward, and rise with her in my arms. She doesn’t even stir.
I didn’t get a chance to buy new sheets for my new bed—and all the sheets at the other house, along with everything in the room, were theirs. I do, however, have one large fuzzy blanket and a matching pillow. Darla, the woman whom I rented the room from, didn’t let me leave without it. She and her husband never knew my story, but she sensed pain in me I think.
I agreed to take the blanket and pillow and now I’m glad I did.
I lower Scarlett to my brand new mattress, sliding the fuzzy pillow beneath her head. Then I pull the blanket up over her, and smooth her hair out on the pillow behind her so it doesn’t tangle. I rinse out her wine cup and fill it with water, placing it on the floor next to the bed.
After cleaning up the food, and turning off the light, I settle onto the old carpet in the living room using a balled up sweatshirt as a pillow. Scarlett’s drunken snores echo through the empty apartment, and the floor nips at me, sending an ache through my hips.
Still, this is the best night I’ve had in years.
And I sleep well.
I’m handing a wad of cash to a delivery driver in the doorway when Scarlett wakes, sauntering out of my bedroom in a way that makes me envision her doing this every fucking day. My eyes widen at the fantasy, and through a yawn she asks, “Why the eyes?”
“Ah, nothing.” I lift the bag. “Breakfast is here.”
She rubs her palms together. “Not gonna lie, I could get used to being taken care of like this.”
Before I can think about it, I say, “I wish you would.” Quickly, I pull clamshells from the bag and set them on the counter, flipping them open.
“Eggs,” I say. “Pancakes,” I add, then opening the last one, she swoons, “Bacon.”
“The perfect antidote to two bottles of red wine,” I say, grabbing a paper plate from the bag. I asked the guy to bring paper plates, disposable cups and utensils. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll make your plate. Have a seat, I’ll bring it to you.”
She looks at me like I’m suddenly speaking gibberish.
“You okay?”
Nodding, she reties her hair as she moves across the apartment, sitting exactly where she sat last night. “I’ve never had a partner serve me, or want to serve me,” she says. “I mean, you’re not—we aren’t—” She shakes her head, messy bun sliding around the top of her head. “You know what I mean.” With a nod, she adds, “And I like all of that, so fill me up.”
I freeze over the containers, the comment lighting a fire beneath my skin. Out of nowhere, I envision myself over her, inside of her, pumping, groaning, eating up her sweet and soft moans while I flood her with years of pent up release. She takes it, she loves it, she presses her hand to her lower belly and moans of her sated fullness. Of the life I leave inside of her.
I make her plate and take it to her, not meeting her eyes. But she takes my wrist, and forces me to find her gaze. “Thank you, Cohen,” she says. “I appreciate it.”
“Of course,” I say with a smile. I make myself a plate and this time, I sit across the room with my back to the opposing wall. What I feel for her, what I see with her… it’s currently overwhelming me. I take bites of warm eggs and think of the pool at the gym, and how much I want to go for a swim right now. How much I need to sink below the surface and keep myself there to sort out my head. Because beneath the surface, the truth is always clear.You belong here, with nothing but memories to haunt you.You do not deserve another chance at it.The water practically whispers that, I swear.
“Thank you for taking care of me last night. Buying dinner and putting me in your bed, all of it,” she says before biting the end off a crispy piece of bacon. She licks her fingers, and my previously dormant dick twitches a little. I cross my legs at the ankle, subtly telling him to back down.
I’m not ready for that, and I know she isn’t either.
I get to my feet and collect the sweets I’d picked up yesterday, and bring them back. “I got these for you yesterday, thought you’d like them today.”
She grins. “Why Cohen Steele, that's mighty presumptuous of you. Thinking I was going to spend the night.”
I hand her the box and love how her eyes go wild and wide at the sight of gourmet cupcakes. She lifts the Oreo one from the box and licks the frosting. Her tone serious, her face soft, she says, “Thank you Cohen.”
The two of us eat and discuss our plans for the day, and Scarlett tells me she’s going to meet Vienna at Crave, even though it’s a Saturday, because they’re still working on the final prototype of her sex toy. I like knowing she’ll be at Crave, because the place is teeming with security cameras and gates, and now that Otis knows Bryan is Pete, she’ll be safe there.
She kisses my cheek before she leaves, one palm splayed against my pec as she does. I know we’re not a couple, and that she’ll be safe at work, but still, panic rises inside me as I watch her unlock her apartment door and step inside.
“Text me when you get to and leave Crave, so I know you’re safe,” I blurt out.
