She nods. “You are correct, sir. I’ve been working on it for months now, just a page or three a night to get myself settled for bed. It’s a good thing it’s not a library book. Besides, I wouldn’t think you’d block out a big chunk of your schedule to read it, either, as much time as you say you spend at the office.”
“If it has to do with business, I make time for it,” I say. “I wanted to buy some artwork as a present for a client, and Jenkins is the top authority on modern art. You want to buy the best; you learn from the best what’s what.”
“Pretty shrewd.”
“I suppose. I ended up buying a sculpture, but don’t ask me of what, because I couldn’t tell if I had it upside-down or right-side-up.”
“That’s modern art for you. Do you have another preference?”
I stroke her arm. “I’m more of a fan of the classics. Raphael. Titian. Botticelli. Actually, you remind me of a Botticelli.”
“Get out of here.”
“No, really,” I say, gathering up her hair and moving it from her shoulder so that I can kiss the spot. “Graceful limbs, porcelain skin, angelic face. That’s you, all right.”
She shakes her head. “No one’s ever described me like that before.”
“Then everyone who didn’t have a chance to is an unobservant moron.”
“You really know how to flatter a girl.”
I shrug. “I call things as I see them.”
She hesitates, then says, “And how do you see things happening with us?”
I weigh the question before answering. “I like you a great deal, Steph—”
“You’re obviously comfortable enough around me to wreck my wardrobe,” she grins.
“And I will replace that, I promise. Like I was saying, I enjoy spending time with you, and I know time is something that neither of us has a lot to spare. I told you, I’ve meant to slow down a bit. Focus on what’s really important. And you make time for what’s really important.” I trail a fingertip along her shoulder. “You’re included in that. You’re important to me, Steph.”
She reaches up, takes my hand, and squeezes it. “You’re important to me, too, Trent.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Same page, same line, same word, it seems.” She looks up at me. “Do you have to leave?”
“Would it take away from the experience if I said I had to be up super-early tomorrow morning to go into work?”
She sighs. “So do I. Doesn’t seem fair.”
“No, it doesn’t. I can always get up around four, go home, change—”
“No,” she says, sounding markedly unhappy about it. “That’s just silly. You should go, get a good night’s sleep. Call me tomorrow, though, okay?”
“Absolutely.” I sit for a moment, feeling the heat from her naked body warming my side. “This is going to be like a Band-Aid.”
“Fast and painful?” she asks with a wince.
“Fast and painful,” I confirm, throwing the covers off my legs and standing up. I was right; it feels terrible. I look back over my shoulder. A warm bed and a beautiful woman beckon wordlessly to me.
“Kiss me,” she says. I oblige.
“Call me,” she adds.
“I will.”
“Be safe going home.”
“Be safe getting out of bed,” I tell her. “I think we may have broken a picture a little while ago.”
“A meager sacrifice,” she says, hugging a pillow to her chest. “Now go, go, go, before I try to convince you to stay.”
“And how exactly would you do that?”
She smiles wickedly.
“Ah,” I say. “On that note…” I fetch my scattered clothes and dress quickly so as not to lose my momentum. Once done, I lean over her and kiss her forehead.
“To be continued,” I say, and then take my leave.
Chapter 17 - Steph
It feels like there’s a hollow spot in the air after Trent makes his exit. I didn’t want to push him out the door, but we both have looming obligations in the morning.
Well, at least sleep won’t be a problem. The flood of endorphins has finally started to ebb in my body, and I’m drowsy and very, very content.
I am on the verge of dropping off when my phone buzzes. I have an incoming text. It’s from Tira.
“If you’re reading this now,” it says, “I’m disappointed in you.”
I hit the call button. She picks up on the first ring.
“And you’re calling me now?” she demands. “That’s even worse!”
“And a pleasant good evening to you, too, T.”
“So I’m dying over here. What happened with Stone? Where did you end up going? What did you end up doing? And most importantly, how many times did you end up doing it?”
I recap the events of the evening for her. She peppers my narrative with ever-lewder questions.
“And then you sent him on his way?” she asks, incredulous, when I conclude my tale.
“You know what they say, T; early to bed, early to rise—"
“Gives you something to do with your thighs,” she finishes, going off-script into Tira-land. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…you could have had some morning delight, girl!”
“At four in the morning,” I argue.
“It sounds like it’d still be a delight, no matter what the hour. So what’s the four-one-one here?” she asks. “Did he give you his class ring, or what?”
“He doesn’t have a class ring,” I reply. “And as for where we are or where we’re going…we’re figuring it out.”
“What’s there to figure out?”
“He has his life; I have mine. It’s hard.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Perv.”
“Hey, you called me,” she says.
“An action I am coming to regret.”
“Oh, come one…half the fun of a great night out is being able to talk about it afterward. Seriously, though, I’m really happy
