“He’s already banged her, he knows how to act,” Brady defends me.
“Yes, because fucking a girl at a wedding is a solid start to a relationship.” Bev finishes her drink and saunters over to the bar again.
“Calm down, Bev. Lori just wants to date her casually until he’s ready and then nail her down.” Brady scoffs and waves her off and his words hit me. “There’s no rush.”
He’s right.
I do want something casual right now, we barely know each other.
What the hell am I doing?
“Bro, pizza, girl! Let’s go!” Brady claps his hands and jolts me out of my trance.
I nod as if this is fine and not insane and walk into the elevator. “Feed Simon,” I say as the door closes.
This is the worst idea.
Why did I think talking to her the day after seeing her was a good idea?
It makes me look desperate.
I have a rule about that.
My mind whispers that I haven’t stopped contemplating the moment I would see her again since she left the farm, and I am desperate. I’ve been stuck in pursuit mode from the moment she got away. Calling Stan, finding out about her move to a building a block from mine, happened before I gave any thought to how insane it looked. Getting someone to run over a housewarming gift with a note might have been too much.
In the moment, it made sense that we would have dinner and have sex again maybe. I never got further than that. And now the reality lingers in the back of my mind, trying to hit me with something resembling common sense about it all.
The elevator door opens and the concierge is waiting with my pizza in a proper delivery bag to keep it hot, and he also has a six pack of Canadian beer, obviously Brady’s idea of a joke. “Mr. Eckelston, the food you requested.”
“Thanks, Seb.” I take it and offer my usual smile, faking all the confidence in the world. “Have a good night, man.”
“I’m off in fifteen minutes. It’s about to be an amazing night.” He winks.
I hurry through the front door, certain this is the biggest mistake of my life, but my feet don’t stop, even when I get to her building. I’m on autopilot.
The doorman nods. “Mr. Eckelston, I was informed you would be joining us. They’re expecting you, 15C.” He presses the button in the elevator for me.
“Thank you,” I say and step in, noticing the nerves in my stomach. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. It’s another sign I should go home, eat the pizza with Bev, and listen to Brady call me a pussy.
Fuck it, I’m going home. This is crazy.
But the door opens on the fifteenth floor and as I press the lobby button she’s there, standing at the elevator, waiting.
There’s no glamor or glitz. No fancy clothes or makeup. In fact, whatever eye makeup she was wearing is staining her cheeks a little bit and her eyes are puffy like she’s tired but also crazy emotional. Her hair’s in a huge bun and for some reason, she no longer has eyebrows. She’s holding a bunch of flattened boxes.
Her eyes meet mine and widen. “Oh shit.” She drops the boxes and steps back, horrified.
Panicking, I say the first thing I think of, “I came to see if you needed help.” It’s a lie but now that I see her, I don’t want to leave.
“Lawrence,” she whispers.
“Here, you take the pizza and beers and I’ll bring these down.” I pass her dinner and pick up the boxes, keeping my foot in the door so it doesn’t close on me.
“No, it’s fine, honestly—”
“Just go, I’m sure you’re starving. I was an idiot to think you’d be done unpacking in time to eat.” I step back into the elevator and smile, but she doesn’t offer one back which makes me second guess all my decisions.
When the elevator doors open to the lobby, the concierge is hurrying over. “Here, thanks.” I hand him the boxes and a hundred dollars and step back into the elevator.
The guy smiles wide, his eyes darting between me and the money. I offer back a polite nod.
When I get upstairs the door to 15C is ajar for me.
Inside, the apartment is a disaster. I see why she’s been crying all afternoon.
“Sorry, it’s such a mess.” She tries to tidy up some of the counter space where she has placed the pizza, but she wobbles and staggers.
“Hey, no worries, Red. I’ve seen much worse,” I lie and offer her the grin to get her fired up. But it doesn’t work at all. “It’s okay.” I walk to her with my arms open and pull her in, hugging her. “I’ll help you clean it all up. It won’t take any time at all.”
God she smells good.
She starts crying and I regret everything, particularly the champagne which I suspect, by how trashed she is, might be the one thing she’s eaten all day. She blubbers an apology, breaking my heart. It takes a lot for a girl like her to fall to pieces.
“It’s okay. You’re just tired.” I lift her up in my arms, trying not to smell her like some kind of serial killer, but the lingering scent of cherries is killing me. Fortunately, the smell of champagne is also there and she’s blubbering into my dress shirt incoherently. Something about Ben or bending and cheating and being at work in the morning.
I’m lost.
I nod and continue through boxes, pacing and trying to choose which room is hers. There’s an unmade bed with clothes on one side and a huge quilt on the other. I place her on the armchair to sit while I spread out the quilt. She’s shaking her head, trying to argue that she’s not tired but I refuse it. I pull her to the bed and force her to lie down.
“I have to work in the morning,” she says the first truly coherent thing since I came into
