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I don’t deny it.
“Pathetically adorable,” Mila huffs.
I chuckle. “It’s a novelty to me as well, so I’d appreciate some leniency.”
Mila stomps her foot. “Boss.”
I snap back. “Yes, Mila?”
She drops the small box on my desk and warns me, “Don’t mess it up, okay?”
I wait for her to be gone before I open the box. Inside there’s a folded note sitting on top of something lumpy. I lift the note and my heart almost stops in my chest when I find a set of car keys engraved with the Aston Martin logo.
I lift the keys, looping the ring inside my finger and read the note:
Don’t sit in the back if you want to be at the wheel.
B, x
P.S. This is an extended loan, not a gift
I laugh, shake my head, and clutch the keys to my chest. That woman!
Heeding Mila’s words, I vow to myself I won’t mess it up.
* * *
I keep true to my promise. In the following weeks, Blake gives me more access to her life. We spend most nights together, either at my place or hers. We eat. We talk. Sometimes we just sit in companionable silence. Or work late side by side. We watch movies. Do ordinary couple stuff. We make love.
The only thing missing is her actually saying she loves me. But I can wait for her. For as long as she needs. I already know how she feels. It’s in the way she looks at me. In the way she holds me, in the way she says my name.
The season changes, leaves turn shades of yellow and orange and red and fall to the ground.
Blake begins to wear all sorts of oversized sweaters around the house that should keep her warm, but only make me want to get her naked and shivering.
Tonight, we’re on her couch, supposedly watching a movie, when I make a sneak attack to remove one such sweater. Initial protests are sedated the moment I graze my teeth over her earlobe. Her weak spot. Works every single time. Blake quickly gets on board with my let’s-ignore-the-movie-and-have-some-real-fun plan. In fact, she’s busy removing my pullover when her phone rings and she stops.
“Ignore it,” I plead.
“I can’t, it’s Marissa’s ringtone.” She squirms underneath me and reaches blindly behind her to grab the phone from the side table next to the couch.
She eventually grabs it, but before she can pick up, I distract her with a calculated nip to the shoulder.
Blake loses her grip on the phone, sending it flying under the couch.
It stops ringing.
Blake scowls at me, but I know just the right move to be forgiven. I’m about to deliver when the same ringtone plays again.
This time, Blake places the flat of her palm squarely on my chest and yells, “Answer phone.”
“Blake?” An agitated female voice drifts up from under the couch. “I need to see you, I-I—”
“You’re on speaker,” Blake interrupts. “Lost the phone under the couch and had to use vocal to pick up.”
“Oh, is Gabriel with you?”
“Yes.”
