Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
She drops the hand holding her phone to her side as she steps forward to the edge of the curb and opens the passenger door.
“You’re not going to fire me?” Her voice sounds so sad, so unlike the Meredith I’ve grown used to over the last few months.
I’m here worrying about her safety and well-being and she’s standing there worried I’m going to fire her.And why shouldn’t she be? I haven’t given her any reason to think I care about her beyond her role as my daughter’s nanny.
“Get in the car, Mere. I’m taking you home.”
She blinks twice and then gets in the car without argument. She’s quiet for the first five minutes before she sits up and rotates abruptly to look at the backseat where Kay’s car seat usually is.
“Where’s Kay?” There’s panic in her voice and it does something to me to hear her concern for my daughter, even knowing she’s inebriated.
“She’s at Gabe and Danae’s house. She fell asleep while we were all hanging out, and instead of waking her up, Danae and Gabe offered to let her sleep over. They’ll bring her by in the morning. I would’ve been here faster if I hadn’t had to take out the car seat.”
“You didn’t have to come and get me. I could’ve gotten an Uber.”
I throw a glance at her, and her cheeks flush red before she looks away. I swallow thickly as my cock jerks in my pants. It’s been a very long time since it’s responded to a woman—to anything really.
“There’s no way I would’ve let you do that knowing what state you’re in.”
“I’m sorry again, about getting so drunk. I don’t usually drink like this.”
“You don’t have to apologize for letting loose and hanging out with your friends. I get it. Honestly, when you called and you were slurring, I was worried someone had drugged you. I know you’re not the type to drink like this.”
“That’s why you came to get me?” Her voice is soft, and when I glance over, her eyes are heavy-lidded like she’s about to fall asleep.
“I was worried about you.” I don’t know why I repeat myself instead of just saying yes, but a part of me needs her to know that she’s not just the nanny. Despite how cold I’ve been to her lately, I can’t deny that she brings to life something inside of me I thought was long gone.
She doesn’t respond, and the next time I look over, she’s fast asleep. We get to the house twenty minutes later, and she looks too peaceful to wake up, so I walk around to the passenger side, unhook her seat belt, and lift her up—one hand under her knees and the other behind her back. She protests slightly for a second—just a murmur, even though she never opens her eyes—before she wraps her arms around my neck and lets me carry her around the house to the guesthouse. I push open the unlocked door and make a mental note to remind her to keep it locked for her safety. Once inside, I carry her to her bedroom.
This is the first time I’ve been in here since she moved in. There are fresh flowers on the windowsill, and the closet door is open with all her clothes inside. A couple of pairs of shoes are strewn across the floor, and the bench seat at the end of the bed has a pile of clothes that were clearly discarded—I’m guessing they’re outfits she was trying on for tonight since I’ve never seen her wear these before.
My gut churns slightly at the thought that she was getting dressed up for someone else, which I know is stupid since I’ve made it clear to her that nothing can happen between us.
Apparently, I haven’t made it clear enough to myself because my body responds to holding her so close to me. It’s the first time I’ve held a woman like this since Sydney—touched another woman at all. Apart from the occasional hug to my friends’ wives, I’ve had no desire to touch another woman.
But with Meredith, my fingers practically itch with the urge to feel her whenever I see her. It doesn’t make sense, and the guilt that eats at me for feeling something for a woman who isn’t Sydney only confuses me further.
Now that I’ve got her in my arms, I’m reluctant to let her go. When she nuzzles her face against the curve of my neck, the need to hold her tighter only gets stronger.
“I wish this was real,” she murmurs, her breath brushing against my neck and causing goose bumps to rise on my skin.
“It is real,” I say, my voice quiet like hers.
Her arms tighten around my neck. “No, it’s not.” She sounds so sad it makes my heart ache. “You would never hold me. You’d never let yourself.”
My body stiffens. “What do you mean?”
“I wish…” her sentence fades, uncompleted.
“You wish what?” I ask her, a hint of urgency to my tone.
“I wish you could be mine.”
I don’t think she could’ve said anything that would shock me stupid more than those words. I swallow thickly, not sure what to say. Not that it matters. She’s plastered. How much of this conversation will she even remember?
Instead of trying to fill the silence, I push her blankets back and lay her down in the bed. Her face is slack with sleep as I cover her with the comforter. I brush a few strands of dark hair away from her face. Her light skin contrasts dramatically with my dark skin, and there’s something that feels so right about caressing her face. Even as I embrace that feeling, it’s tainted by the sudden doubt I feel. Doubt and guilt, but this time it’s not guilt for wanting her; it’s guilt for suddenly not feeling guilty that I’ve developed feelings for someone when I promised Sydney it would only ever be her.
I step back from the bed, my gaze still locked on Meredith’s face. I leave the guesthouse and head straight to my room, trying not to think about her words, but unable to get her voice out of my head.
I wish you could be mine .
I’ve only ever been Sydney’s. I don’t know how to let anyone else in. I don’t even know if it’s possible to love someone else the way they would deserve because of how much I still love Sydney. It wouldn’t be fair to her.
And yet, I still can’t stop thinking about it and wondering what it would be like if I could be hers.
What would it be like if she was mine ?