Page 78 of Sparks Fly

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25

Addison

I stood in my bedroom, staring at the half-packed overnight bag on my bed.

Clothes were folded into neat little piles around it: jeans, a sundress, a cropped tee Sawyer had once said made me look criminal in the best way. My toiletry case sat open beside them, tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner, perfume and moisturizer arranged with almost obsessive care.

I had not meant to pack tonight. The plan had been to wait until Friday, squeeze it in after work, maybe toss a few things into a bag at the last minute. But I was excited and I had too much nervous energy. I wanted out. I wanted to go, and it was not just because I needed a break from the wedding chaos or the constant calendar reminders… I wanted Sawyer.

So last minute today, I had moved things around, texted my assistant, shifted two showings, promised to cover a Sunday open house in two weeks. So I could have tomorrow off.

My heart was doing something suspiciously close to fluttering, and I was standing at the foot of my bed holding a piece of lingerie I had never actually worn. It was a deep red matching bra and underwear set trimmed in lace, delicate and unapologetically sexy. The kind of thing I had once bought for someone who never really saw me. Now it sat in my hands like it meant something more.

I want you. I’ve wanted you. I’m ready.

My fingers tingled as I reached for my phone. I opened our messages and typed before I could overthink it.

Me: So, if I moved some things around and didn’t have to work tomorrow… hypothetically… could you not work either?

My pulse thudding high in my throat like I was twenty-one again and sneaking out of my sorority house to go meet someone.

My phone buzzed while I was zipping my makeup bag.

Sawyer: I’ve already taken the day off tomorrow, Sunshine.

Another text came through almost immediately.

Sawyer: Give me 20 minutes to finish up what I’m doing, then I’ll call you.

I sank onto the edge of the bed with the red lingerie still in my lap. My thumb traced the scalloped edge of the lace cup, following the curves like it was a promise I was trying to make myself believe.

There was something thrilling and terrifying about wanting like this. Not just sex. Not just attention.

Letting myself show it. Letting myself say: yes, this is for you. I’m not pretending anymore.

While I waited I finished packing. And it felt like I was not packing to escape my life. I was packing to step into it.

When my phone lit up again, FaceTime flashing across the screen, my stomach flipped so hard it almost hurt. I answered immediately, and the second the image loaded I groaned.

Sawyer filled the frame in a black sports bra, her skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. Her rainbow-streaked hair was twisted into a messy knot with the shaved side of her head fully exposed. She looked like she had just stepped away from welding, sweaty and flushed and so fucking beautiful I actually whimpered.

“Jesus fuck, you’re so beautiful,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

Sawyer’s mouth curved into a slow, satisfied smirk. “You okay over there?”

I tried to answer and failed the first time. My heart was hammering too hard, and my thighs pressed together automatically.

“I don’t have to work tomorrow,” I finally managed. “We can leave whenever.”

Something in her expression shifted then, less teasing and more intent. Her eyes darkened in a way that made my whole body go hot.

“Come over now,” she said. “Spend the night. We’ll sleep in and leave after a lazy morning together.”

My breath caught because I knew exactly what coming over meant. No more teasing, no more almosts, no more stopping with both of us half dressed and aching and pretending that was enough. This would be real and deliberate. We were finally going to cross the line we had been circling for weeks, and I wanted it.

“Okay,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Let me shower. I’ll be over in an hour. Hour and a half max. I’ll bring all my stuff. I’ll Uber over.”