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“Well?” she asks impatiently.
“I’m sorry, baby. You look amazing, but I’m exhausted. I just want to take a shower and wash this night off of me and get some sleep,” I answer.
Her face falls, and I feel like shit.
“I haven’t seen you in three days. I forced myself to stay up all night, so I could sleep in with you this morning, and I’ve been wearing this for hours, waiting for you to get home,” she complains.
“I know.”
“Do you? Because you didn’t bother to pick up a phone and call me to tell me you were going to be two hours late,” she snaps.
“Sus, I was busy with an emergency and lost track of time. Calling home wasn’t a high priority.”
She grabs the sides of the robe and pulls them together in a huff. “You mean, I’m not a priority,” she states.
“No, that’s not what I said. I honestly thought you’d be sleeping,” I counter.
“I know your job is tough, Corbin, but it’s not easy, sitting around here, waiting for you all the time either. And excuse me if I think that I deserve the consideration of a phone call or at least a text if you are going to be held up. I understand that emergencies are important, but so am I. I worry,” she cries.
I hang my head.
“Of course you’re important,” I mutter as I wrap her in my arms and pull her to me. “You’re the most important.”
“It’d be nice if you acted like it.” She sniffles into my chest.
I place a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll do better,” I promise.
She shrugs away from me and reaches up to smooth hair away from my eyes.
“Get in the shower. I’ll find you something to eat,” she offers before turning and leaving the bathroom.
I watch after her for a beat.
Why does everything have to be so difficult?
I walk over and open the shower door and step in under the spray. Cold water cascades over my back.
Fucking great.
After finishing my cold shower, I slip on a pair of lounge pants and find Susanna seated at the island in the kitchen. She’s changed from the sexy nightwear to a pair of cotton shorts and an oversize sweatshirt and pulled her hair into a messy bun, and she’s still breathtaking.
A plate holding a ham sandwich and a pickle wedge is sitting on the counter with a glass of milk.
She looks up when she hears me enter the room.
“Sorry. I haven’t been to the grocery store this week, so there wasn’t much to choose from,” she says as I pick up the plate and sit on the stool beside her.
“This is good,” I say.
I’m not in the mood to eat, but I take a bite of the sandwich anyway. I chew and swallow, washing it down with the milk, but I don’t really taste it.
“You know what we need?” she asks.
I slide my eyes to her. She’s thumbing through a magazine.
“What?” I ask.
“A vacation.” She raises the page she is looking at, so I can see it.
