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Willow flinches before her eyes flash to the screen and she relaxes. Just like she did when we were in LA.
“Willow—”
“It’s just Pippa,” she says, cutting me off. “I didn’t really tell her I was leaving.”
“She knows, but who—”
“How?” she cuts me off.
“I saw her before I came to meet you. I told her we needed to talk.”
“And we talked goood,” she says, dragging out the word, making me laugh, distracting me from my worry.
“We’re having a conversation now. That counts.”
“Very true. Let’s get going then so we can finish it.”
On the drive home, the tension builds inside me. And by the time we’re walking to my door, my heart is racing. If we want to make a go of this, I need to tell her everything, and I need to do it sooner rather than later.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” I say as I open the door, signaling for Willow to step through.
She walks past quietly without giving me a response, but the second the door clinks shut she launches herself at me, leaping into my arms as hers wrap around me.
I easily catch her, despite the shock, and we both fall back against the door. “Didn’t you hear me?” I rasp against her hair as she snuggles into me.
“I did, and we’ll get to our talk. But for now… I just need you close.”
“How close?”
“Inside me.”
Jesus.How can I argue with that?
I waste no time carrying her down the hallway. We can talk later, tomorrow even. I’m not letting her leave tonight.
She giggles as we move, and like always, I relish in the sound as it makes every part of me lighter, temporarily blocking the darkness from my mind.
When we reach the bedroom, Willow stops moving, her eyes scrutinizing the space in front of her.
“Well, this is boring,” she says after a beat, sliding from my body before moving to the bed. “Could you not afford any artwork?”
“Ha ha,” I deadpan, though it’s a good question. Why don’t I have any artwork?
“I’ve never really bothered with personal effects,” I say honestly, even though it’s not something I really talk about. “It probably stems from bouncing from home to home as a kid.”
Willow nods in understanding as she reaches back, curling her fingers around mine.
“You don’t need much,” she says, her lips pursed in thought. “Maybe just—”
“Artwork?” I say quickly, making her laugh, though she hides it behind her hand.
“Ha ha,” she deadpans instead, mocking me. “Yes, artwork. But I was actually thinking you could put up one of your jerseys. Do players do that?” She drops my hand and points to the blank wall between my two windows.
“For cup jerseys, sure.”
“So where do you keep yours?” she asks with a spark in her eyes, making me cringe dramatically.
“You wound me,” I say with a bit of an accent, acting defeated with my eyes on the floor, laughing when Willow gasps.
