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She slowly rubs her hand up my back, and I close my eyes, memorizing how it feels. I slide out of her. “I’ll be back.” I kiss the middle of her chest. “Don’t move.”
I walk over to the guest bathroom and grab a rag from under the sink. Wetting it, I clean myself before grabbing another one and walking out to see her still sitting on the counter. “Good girl,” I praise, taking the rag and cleaning her with it. “You can get down now.”
“Thanks for your permission.” She hops down off the counter but avoids looking at me. She pulls her shirt up before walking back over to the bowl and making herself a parfait of yogurt and fruit like she did yesterday. “Do you want me to make you one?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“No. I’m going to make myself eggs and bacon.” I pull the pan out to make the eggs.
“Yeah, that’s what you said yesterday, and you ate half my bowl.” She laughs as she washes some blackberries and pops one into her mouth before taking another. I grab her wrist, pulling it to my mouth and eating it.
She laughs, and just like that, our time is up. I carry her bag with me to the car to drive to the airport. “You can’t come in with me.” She looks over at me. “People might spot us together and take a picture.”
“So?” I ask, and she looks out the window as I pull out of the driveway. I grip the steering wheel, pushing the anger back down. I wait until I’m out of the development before I ask her, “When am I going to see you again?” My finger taps the wheel nervously.
“I’m not sure,” she replies, and I can feel her pulling away. “I have a pretty big trial coming up, and I have to focus on that.”
I don’t say another word because all I want to do is call her out on the bullshit she just said. I take my time driving to the airport, taking the longest route I know, and when I get there, I pull up to the curb. The last thing I want to do is piss her off after this weekend. “Thank you for coming to surprise me this weekend.” The tightness fills my chest. “Is it okay if I get out of the truck and get your bag?”
She looks around a couple of times, checking to see if a lot of people are there. “Do you think you’ll be recognized?”
“No idea,” I bite out, “but I don’t care if I am.”
“You might not care, but the last thing we need is pictures coming out and then—” I cut her off.
“And then you have to tell everyone you came to see me,” I fill in for her, and she shakes her head.
“You forget I grew up with cameras in my face every time my father stepped foot outside,” she snaps. “So yeah, I like to be private.”
“Well, then we shouldn’t chance it.” My heart pounds so hard in my chest. “I would hate for you to be put in that situation.” I lean over and kiss her lips one last time before she leaves, knowing she’s going to fight this until her last breath. “Thank you again for this weekend,” I whisper before I kiss her again.
“Thank you.” She puts her hand in mine on the center console. “I have to go, or I’ll miss my flight.”
Good, I want to say, but instead, I just nod. She reaches for the door handle and steps outside. She shuts the door and opens the back door, where she grabs her bag. “Will you call and let me know you got home safe?” I ask.
“I will,” she agrees softly before she closes the door. I watch her walk into the airport with her bag beside her and her head down, feeling like this is a breakup, but what she doesn’t know is I’m not going anywhere. She can push me away all she wants. It just means I have to show her I’m the man she deserves.
I watch her until I can’t see her anymore, and I’m about to drive away when my phone beeps. I pull it out of the cupholder and see my screen saver is the one we took in the balloon. My arm around her shoulders and her arm around my waist. Her name’s in the middle of my screen.
Gorgeous: Thank you for everything.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
ryleigh
Ipress send on the text and then take a deep breath, putting my phone in my pocket before I walk over to security. I go through the motions of security before heading over to the gate, ignoring the weight of my phone in my pocket. Ignoring the fact that walking out of his car and into the airport without turning around and going back to him was killing me. Forget the fact I wanted him to walk me into the fucking airport so I could spend extra time with him.
What good would it have done if he walked me inside and to security?I ask myself as I stop for a latte. Me hugging him and spending every single second with him. So he could see how it is tearing me up inside? No, that wouldn’t do anyone any good.
I sit at the gate, waiting for my flight to be called. Looking out the window at the planes, I wonder if I really have to leave. Maybe I could stay an extra day? And then what? Drag the goodbye out even more? No. I get up when I hear them announce the last call for the flight, walking in and storing my bag in the overhead bin before sitting in my first-class seat. I tuck my purse under the seat in front of me before I take my phone out of my pocket.
I look down at the screen, seeing he texted me.
Stone: Gorgeous, it’s me who should be thanking you for the amazing weekend. Text me when you land.
I turn the Airplane Mode on before I tuck the phone into the pocket of the seat in front of me. I look out the window as the captain comes on to tell us how the flight will go, but all I can do is stare out my window, sort of in a state of shock. All I want to do is kick myself in my ass. What is wrong with you? He’s a guy. When have you ever thought about a guy for more than two days? Never. Not once. I have never in my life put a man before anything. They were always, and I mean always, a second thought. If I had a date, okay, but if not, it wasn’t that big of a deal. But now I’ve been with this fucking man for what… two weeks, and he’s all I fucking think about. It’s insane. It’s preposterous. It’s ridiculous. I’m a thirty-year-old woman who has her dream job, looking to climb the ladder even more, and I’m sitting here on a plane semi-heartbroken because the man I like lives fucking far from me.
I close the window shade and grab my bag as soon as we are airborne, pulling up the brief I should be thinking about instead of Stone motherfucking Richards. I shut it all down like I’m used to and focus on the brief I’m working on, making notes in the sidebar. I’m so out of it I only look up when the plane bumps when we land.
I tuck my iPad back into my bag, springing up when the seat belt sign goes off. I’m the second one off the plane as I make my way down the escalator and toward the Uber line, pulling out my phone before heading outside. I wait for it to finally get service, ignoring the text messages that come in, and just order the Uber. I look down at the map as if my life depends on it. Ignoring the way my hand shakes when I get into the car with my bag, I even go so far as to have a conversation with the Uber driver not to touch my phone. Usually, it’s a hello and a thank you. Now it feels like I’m giving him a job interview with the number of questions I’m asking him.
