I mean, probably not. But Icould.
Alicia and the kids are supposed to come by tomorrow to cheer me up. I protested on the phone with her earlier, but she could tell my heart wasn't in it. I still need to give them their souvenirs. Or soup-in-ears, as Orion calls them. Huffing out a chuckle, I smile. He's a good kid. They'reboth good kids. I bet they'd make excellent older cousins for any future… offspring… I might have.
Preferably with Brooke. Dammit, there I go again. That might be a record since I got back, actually. I had a whole separate line of thought going before it all went back to her. All roads lead to Brooke, I guess.
My phone vibrates loudly against the solid wood of my guest room side table. Brooke's face lights up the screen. Holy shit. It's her. It's her? Brooke is calling me?
"Oh my god, what do I do?" I whisper to myself and frantically shuffle back and forth. We're not supposed to talk. We're not supposed to have any contact. I could get fired.Shecould get fired. What if she's already been fired, and that's why she's calling? What if something happened? What if she's laid up in the hospital, and her dying wish is to speak with me?
The vibrations stop, and my phone screen goes dark. "Shit!"
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. Except I do, and I hate it. My hands tremble as I reach for the phone, and it takes me three attempts to unlock it. Should I call her back? What if she's in jail, and that was her one call? What if she's dying? What if she's already dead?
Her face appears again—she's calling me back! I almost drop the phone as I swipe to answer.
"Hello? Brooke?"
"Dustin?" Her voice sounds muffled, and there's a lot of background noise. I can't make it out, but it sounds like a train station, maybe? "Where do you live?"
I rattle off my address without thinking. "Wait, why? Where are you? Why is it so loud?"
"Nothing. No reason. I love you! Bye!"
Click.
She loves me. Oh my god, she still loves me. Relief floods through me, and I nearly weep in the middle of my guest room. God, that can keep me going forweeks.I can handle the uncertainty of my job with the knowledge that Brooke—my beautiful woman, my brave girl—loves me.
I practically float through my condo before settling down on my sofa. You know what? I don't even care if theydofire me. I can handle that. I can deal with anything now. Jobs come and jobs go, but Brooke is forever. Hell, I might even call up Kenton St. Clair—the bastard—and tell him I quit before they can fire me.
Well, maybe I won't gothatfar.
As I look around my immaculate condo, I realize the dirtiest thing here is me. I've been in a cleaning frenzy for the past three days, and I honestly don't remember the last time I showered. Maybe when I got home from the airport? That can't be good. Maybe it's time to get myself freshened up and use that new squeegee I bought for the glass shower door. Hard water stains are brutal to removewhen they've been left alone, but armed with my new cleaning tool? They'll never get the chance to stain.
The rushing water of the shower drowns out all other thoughts. I soap myself up and stare into space. Predictably, my mind drifts back to Brooke. Did I get to shower with her? Not since college, I'm pretty sure. I wonder how much those fancy hotels with in-room hot tubs cost? Probably a lot, but for her? Nothing is too much.
I'd go broke making her happy if that's what it took. But I know her, and she wouldn't allow that to happen. She would want to spoil me back just as much, if not more. God, I'm so lucky she loves me. I miss her. I can't believe she called me. I didn't get to talk to her, not really, but she said she loves me.
Does she know what that did to me? Does she know whatshedoes to me?
The water runs cold as I continue to ponder Brooke and all of her facets. When I start to shiver, I force myself to turn off the tap and wipe down the walls (and shower door) with my new squeegee. It does a good job, but all I want to do is trace Brooke's name in the condensation instead of wiping it away.
A muffled pounding noise echoes down the hall as I crack open the bathroom door. Confusion creases my brow, and I wrap my towel around my waist. Did I order food and forget? I don't think so, butwithout my phone, I can't really check. I don't remember where I put it. I know I talked to Brooke in the guest room….
The pounding is more insistent. I hear a woman yelling out my name. Shit, that's got to be for me. I scamper to the door and wrench it open. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I forgot I ordered anything; I was in the shower."
Brooke. Brooke? My heart leaps in my chest as I take in the sight of Brooke—my girlfriend, the love of my life—standing at my doorstep. Her cheeks are rosy, and her eyes are filled with tears.
"Oh, my god." She drops her bags and throws her arms around me. I melt into a puddle and forget about the stupid towel around my waist. I pull her even closer, like I could get her under my skin; I need her with an intensity I didn't know I possessed.
Brooke snakes a hand up to the back of my head and pulls me down, kissing me with ferocity. Her teeth nip at my lips, and I gasp—her tongue invades my mouth. A symphony swells in my mind, and I get a little lightheaded. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I can't get close enough. I needmore.
A tiny moan slips out between her searing kisses. She is the symphony. She is the sun peeking out from behind the clouds on a sunny day. She is the cool side of the pillow. She is the handwritten note in a lunch box. She is the extra dollop of whipped cream on top of a rich mug of hot chocolate.
She's everything. And she's mine.
"I missed you so much, baby," I murmur into her hair as we break for air. She lets out a strangled sob and squeezes me tighter.
"I missed you, too. God, I'm so happy to see you—you're in a towel." Brooke releases her hold and steps back, looking me up and down.
