Chapter 41 A Million Miles
A Million Miles
Connor
Abuzzing sound knocks into my head like a mini jackhammer, and I stir awake. Maisie nestles further into me for a moment, and I inhale her lavender scent, enjoying the feel of her pressed against me.
Last night was amazing. I’m honestly having trouble believing it was real.
The girl of my dreams, my best friend. Wanted me.
Let me kiss her, touch her. I can’t wrap my head around it.
And then after? We cleaned up, changed into warm PJs, and watched a Marvel movie.
It’s a balance I never would have dared to dream for myself.
The buzzing stops and immediately starts again. I frown and gently reach across a still-sleeping Maisie to check her phone. “Mom,” it reads. It must be important if she is calling twice in a row, so I decide I need to wake Maize.
I kiss up her arm, stopping at her shoulder, whispering, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
“Mmmmmm,” she mumbles and scoots even closer to me. My cock jumps in excitement at the movement, but this is not the time.
“Maize, your mom is calling. I think it’s important. You need to wake up.”
She stirs again but still doesn’t wake to coherence. I kiss her cheek. I don’t want our bubble to pop. I want to spend all day in this bed with her, cuddled up, away from the distractions of the world.
The world apparently has other plans, though. The buzzing starts once more. “Dad” flashes across the screen this time. I gulp down nerves of what could be wrong and shake her.
“Maize, seriously, wake up. Now your dad’s calling.”
She stretches out like a starfish but slowly makes her way to sitting, her giant sleep shirt hanging off her and her hair wild in the most adorable way. She holds her hand out for the phone, and I place it in her palm.
“Dad?” she answers, her words garbling around a yawn. She’s quiet while he talks on the other end.
“Oh!” she says, and I can’t quite tell what to make of her tone. She’s clearly surprised, but I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.
“Sure, yeah. We’ll get on the road as soon as possible.
Yep, see you soon. Love you.” She ends the call and slumps back into the sea of stacked pillows.
“The storm never actually hit,” she says casually.
“I guess we’re free to head home.” She looks at her phone, and her eyes bulge.
“Shit! Connor, it’s almost eleven—we’re going to miss check-out. We need to move!”
The next fifteen minutes are a chaotic whirlwind of haphazard packing of clothes, taking turns to quickly pee and brush our teeth, and getting all our luggage into the hall.
I exit our room with the last bag just in time for housekeeping to show up.
I give the woman a sheepish grin and turn to hightail it toward the front desk with Maize.
“Check out for Thatcher, Room 108,” I say to the man at the counter, blissfully not the same gentleman who checked us in yesterday.
“Sure thing, sir. Did you enjoy your stay?”
“Very much.” And I can’t help the smile that beams across my face. I turn to look at Maisie, but she’s staring down at her phone like it holds the mysteries of the world. Her shoulders are slumped, and her cuticle is between her teeth again. What happened between the room and here?
“Here’s your receipt, sir. Thank you, and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day.”
I manage to grab the receipt and then reach for Maisie’s hand, but she startles and retracts her hand from mine, feigning the need for both to pull her suitcase.
My stomach twists. Did last night not mean the same to her as it did to me?
No, our intentions were clear. Right? This wasn’t just some hook-up.
This was us. If we were going to take that to the next level, it implied more than a hook-up and certainly more than being just friends. Didn’t it?
I rush to catch up to Maisie, who’s already through the sliding glass doors and a few steps into the parking lot. A car slams to a halt beside her and beeps. She barely spares them a glance. I wave them off and join her side.
“Maize, are you okay?” I ask, concern bubbling.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” she says, but she might as well be a million miles away.
We finish the short walk to the car in silence. I load everything into the trunk as she takes her spot in the passenger’s seat. I think I might be sick. I can’t lose her. I’ve barely even had her. What the heck happened?
I climb into the driver’s seat and start the car.
I sneak a peek over to her, but she’s staring out the window, so I can’t see her face.
Her body tells me she doesn’t want to talk.
I put on the radio, and Taylor Swift comes through the speakers.
My eyes light up, hopeful her favorite artist will be enough to cheer her up, but she doesn’t move.
“It’s good you’ll be home in plenty of time for Thanksgiving,” I say, trying anything to break the tension that pulses through the car.
“Yeah,” is all she says.
My palms are sweating, and my ears are hot, but I pull out of our parking spot and start the next leg of our car journey. I pray whatever is happening is not what I think it is, and we’ll be back to normal soon. Well, our new normal.