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“Almost there,” I whisper in her ear.
“What else do you want me to tell her?”
“Tell her I’m your boyfriend,” I say, continuing to tease her until she’s hot and wet.
“I’m your girlfriend?” It’s almost a whimper.
“You are.” With Carla in my arms, I swing us out of bed and stalk to the shower.
I’d all but begged Carla to stay and spend the day with me. It’s Sunday and the gym’s closed. I’d made a convincing argument too, making love to every inch of her body. Four times. In four different rooms in my apartment.
Still, Mallory kept calling and Carla wanted to see her face in person when she told her about us.
Us.
I can’t stop the dumb grin from spreading across my face every time I think about it.
I’d been prepared to pull out all the stops and prove to her that I could be the kind of man she deserved. I’d built her that yoga slash painting room to show her how much I support and believe in her dreams. I was ready for her to put up a fight. Thought she’d tell me she needed to make one of her lists to help her decide.
But it turns out I didn’t need to do any of that. She’d told me she loved me. And she said it first.
I gave her space today, only sending a couple texts throughout the morning, but by lunchtime they’d gone unanswered. Though it was unsettling, I forced myself to keep the negative thoughts at bay.
The negative thoughts that whispered, Everybody leaves you.
Everyone you love dies.
You’re not good enough for Carla.
She’ll realize it soon enough.
I keep busy cleaning the apartment. I’ll be asking Carla to move in with me, so now is as good a time as any to make room.
To some people, it might seem like I’m moving fast.
But when you’ve lived in a realm of torture your entire life, you don’t leave the good things to chance when they come along. You hold onto it with everything you’ve got, and you run with it.
The day continues and I let myself get worried. What if she never made it to her apartment this morning? What if she got into an accident? What if she changed her mind about us?
Without realizing that I’m even doing it, I drive to Carla’s place. I release a breath of relief when her car comes into view in the parking lot. Still, I can’t ignore the lead ball in the pit of my stomach. Something isn’t right.
Mallory answers the door with wide eyes. “Ah, shit.”
“Nice to see you too,” I say, shouldering past her. “Is Carla here?”
“She … she’s out at the moment.”
I stick my head into Carla’s room and make my way back into the living room after I see for myself that it’s empty. “She has to be here. Her car’s here.”
“She got picked up.”
Mallory’s never at a loss for words. Her short sentences signal another warning bell. “Spit it out, Mal. Please. What’s going on?”
She releases a groan and her shoulders slump. “She should tell you herself.”
Acid pours into my stomach. “Where is she?”
“Don’t know. I’m here. With you.” She waves her hand in front of my face. “As you can see.”
