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“You couldn’t handle it.”
“That’s true.”
“Quit procrasta-flirting and tell me what’s going on.”
“I think I’m falling in love. Again.”
“About time.”
Charlie knows I love her. I never made that a secret. That I wanted to fuck her more than breathe? She learned about that recently.
And she knows about Alec. She was serving in Afghanistan when I wrote to her about him. I told her what happened with my parents and she called me as soon as she got the letter. I could hear the loud aircraft from the base she was stationed at in the background, but she didn’t care. I had her undivided attention because she was worried about me. The feeling’s always mutual.
“I’m falling for two people, actually.”
She smiles at the screen, and it’s like she’s sitting beside me in bed. I wish.
“That sounds like you,” she says.
“What do you mean ‘sounds like me’?”
“You have a big heart.” She grins. “I raised you that way.”
“You did not raise me. I had too many wet dreams about you for you to be talking about raising me.”
“I’m so flattered and splattered.”
She goes for the joke, and damn, I’m next if her husband, Daniel Pierce, ever fucks up again.
“Don’t tempt me,” I reply. “Tell me what to do. I have all the feels for another woman and man. They’re a couple with a heartbreaking past, and I worry I’ll get my heart broken too if something happens.”
“You just might. But it’s worth the try if you feel so strongly for them.”
“Easy for you to say. You have the perfect marriage.”
“Oh, kiss my go-to-hell, I do not. You, of all people, know that.”
“I’m not saying y’all are perfect. I’m saying your love is. Like it’s real and tested, and I want that too.”
“You wanted it so much that you told Daniel you’d do a threesome with us.”
“Still do. I’ll rearrange my dance card for you any day, Charlie Girl.”
She blows a kiss at the screen. “I’m in Spain.”
I wink back. “And I’m right here waiting for ya.”
We always do this. We flirt, and it’s no disrespect to Daniel. I think he likes it. Jealousy gets him off. Lucky man.
“Seriously, though.” She props her phone up on something while she sips coffee. I can see she’s wearing an old USMC midriff T-shirt that gives me a peek at her abs. Shit, she’s hot. “Why are you so afraid of getting hurt? That’s not like you.”
“Maybe these two are different.”
“Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe it’s something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t want to be hurt again, like how your parents hurt you, so you don’t let yourself love hard enough to really be vulnerable.”
