Page 104 of Courtroom Drama
He’s so fucking handsome.
“I saw the sign,” I say, stepping before him.
“I feel like I should have some Ace of Base song reference ready here.”
I ignore his shot at levity, too taken with having him here before me. “How long has it been up?”
He shrugs. “Just today. I took a shot.”
“Won’t you get in trouble?”
He shakes his head. “It’s worth a write-up.”
I shake my head back. “Always the troublemaker, pushing boundaries, breaking rules.”
“That’s why I need you to keep me in line.”
“Is that what I am? Your safety net for when you make questionable decisions?”
“No. You’re the person who makes it more fun when I do make questionable decisions.”
We’ve both inched closer and now are practically touching. I take in his scent and tug at the hem of my cropped tee, attempting to loosen the wrinkles from the drive, realizing I likely smell like a horse. But then again, so does he.
I knew I missed him over these past few weeks. I’ve thought about him constantly. There’s been a void I can never seem to fill, like a steady, unquenchable thirst or an irretrievable word on the tip of my tongue. The constant feeling that I’ve forgotten to grab my keys or unplug an appliance. But being next to him now, I didn’t realize how much I really did miss him. How just having him standing here before me, I feel a wholeness I haven’t felt, perhaps ever.
“How’d you know where I live?”
He looks down and cups the back of his neck with his palm, and Ipractically liquefy. I can’t help but smile at how that small gesture is so distinctly him. How many times in those first few days of the trial I found myself jealous of the back of his neck, how much action it gets from his broad hand.
“Working for the government has its perks.”
“You dug into government files?”
He smiles. A real one. I stare at his perfect teeth.
“No. I googled you. You weren’t hard to find.”
We stare at each other, our faces mirrored as they grow serious.
“I’ve got a shit ton of emotional baggage,” I tell him, only now, for the first time, willing to admit it aloud.
“So do I,” he says so matter-of-factly that I wonder if he’s really heard me.
“I’m not sure I know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Be with someone. Romantically.”
He is quiet, and I wonder if I’ve misread the situation. Perhaps he’s here with a different agenda altogether. But then he takes my hands in his. “You don’t have to know. We will figure it out.”
Is it really that simple? I’m sure the answer is no, but what if, through our actions, we can make it yes.
“Everything broken in me doesn’t just change with the flip of a switch,” he says, squeezing my hands gently in his palms. “But I want to try. With you. Having you to take care of, to worry about, to protect, it felt good.”
“I don’t need to be protected,” I say.
“I know. Which makes me want to protect you more.”
