Chapter 26
KEATS
“Aguy could get used to this,” I say, tucking my arms under my head on the pillows piled behind me in bed. A smirk lifts my cheek like a damn creeper, but the view is fantastic.
Short T-shirt showing off her midriff.
Fitted workout pants give me a good look at her incredible ass.
And I’m certain she’s not wearing a bra by how her nipples peak against the cotton.
The vixen.
She knows what she’s doing. And it’s working.
How can my entire body be sore or worse, hurting, and my dick manages to sport an erection like I didn’t just get out of the hospital two days ago? I know the why and how. My Spark. I’m a lucky fucking guy.
“You seem to be already used to it,” she smarts with those pink lips I wouldn’t mind seeing wrapped around—“I have an apartment to see in an hour.” She glances at me, casually dropping the bomb as she walks into the bathroom while tucking her hair behind one ear.
I’m all for her having her independence and finally breaking free from the shackles of her family. But as a couple who haven’t made any declarations but are filling the leading roles, I’m starting to wonder what we’re doing. Or is it all just make-believe? It’s not for me.
She’s been here to see me every day since we reunited and spends the nights taking care of me like she lives here. No complaints from me. But is it fair to her?
I’m used to living alone. I’ve done it since I was a teen, but she hasn’t.
So it’s a big ask to see if she wants to make this situation more permanent since she’s between places to live, and I’m enjoying her company.
Selfishly, I hate it when she leaves, even when it’s only for a few hours to go to the hotel to change clothes or run errands before she returns.
I don’t think I can broach the topic without it coming off as possessive.
Is that what it is? I don’t want to share her with anyone else.
Fuck yes, I’m possessive of her. The smile shining just for me and a laugh ringing like church bells, summoning me to congregate at her altar, are big drivers of the emotion.
I lick my lips, remembering just how sweet her altar tasted this morning.
I grin, unashamed. My tongue is working great.
Yeah, it’s probably too soon to talk about moving in, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about it. Logically, it’s reckless to jump in like we’ve been together for years. But my heart could argue why this makes sense in front of the Supreme Court and win.
Propping myself up, I lean against the wooden headboard and ask, “Where’s the apartment?”
She comes galloping out of the bathroom with a huge smile on her face and climbs onto the bed next to me. “You’re going to love this. It’s only eight blocks from here.”
“Then what’s the point?” Shit. Why’d I say that? Her head tilts on the jolt back from her neck. The smile washed away under the tide of the insult. “I didn’t mean—”
“The point is I need a place to live.” With her arm flying in the opposite direction of her parents’ house, she says, “I can’t just go from their house to yours.”
I’ve already fucked this up, sooooo . . . “Why not?”
“You know why, Keats.” When her shoulders soften, the corners of her eyes drag down with them. “How would that be standing on my own two feet?” She turns, anchoring a foot to the floor to push off the bed, but I catch her by the arm. “Please don’t leave because this conversation is uncomfortable.”
Relaxing her back, she says, “I’m not leaving because I can’t have this conversation. I was only going to get your medication.”
I glance at the time. Yep, three minutes until the alarm goes off. “I’m an ass. Sorry.”
“Are you sorry you’re an ass or because you assumed the worst?”
Shrugging, I try for lighthearted, hoping I didn’t just majorly screw this up. I want her to trust me, not think I’m one of the others demanding something from her. “Both.”
Half of one of her smiles is still worth millions to me. She stands and says, “It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
Left to my own devices, my thoughts wander to the emails I have piling up in my inbox, the missed miles I haven’t run, or the weights I’ll have to build up to lifting again once I’m healed.
Instead of worry, a wash of gratitude overwhelms me in quieter moments like these.
I rest my head back, staring out the window as a grin pops into place.
I did it. I got a book deal. Although it’s not new news, I don’t think I’ve had a genuine moment to celebrate.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand and text Professor Johns:
Assaulted and mugged in the subway, but recovering, and I got a book deal.
Figure it’s worth getting everything out upfront so we can talk about the other, more important stuff like the deal.
My phone pings:
What the hell, Keats? Are you okay?
I reply:
Can’t say I haven’t been better, but I’ve probably been worse off as well. I’ll live. And I have money from the advance to use as bandages. So yeah, I’m good.
The daze of devastation I wandered in for months after Sosie ghosted me was far worse. At least with bruises, there’s an expectation of healing to follow. With her—no word, no explanation, no nothing left me feeling hollow for years.
He texts:
This is a lot for text. I have some free time in a few hours. How about I stop by?
He’s always been more of a conversationalist than I am. I prefer text, but it’s him, so I reply:
Sure thing. Just buzz when you’re here, and I’ll let you in.
I set the phone down just before Sosie walks in with a tray I didn’t know I had.
When she sets it on the bed next to me, I study the clockwork of items placed on it.
Orange juice at one. Water at two. An English muffin at four and butter and jelly at six.
My stomach growls so loud when I spot the Andes Mint sitting at nine o’clock that Sosie asks, “I have a whole box if you want them?”
I take the green-packaged chocolate, grinning like a kid who just got candy . . . I laugh because it feels like I just scored a touchdown, if my school had a team and I had played football. “I used to think these were candies that rich people ate.”
“We do.” She laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“When I was ten, I’d bought chocolate bars at the bodega with a bulk discount I’d wrangled out of the owner.
I went around selling them near Park Avenue to raise money for new sneakers.
Figured I’d hit the wealthier neighbors since they had money to spare.
They didn’t in my neighborhood.” She settles in next to me against the headboard as she has nowhere else to be, more important than here with me.
The warmth of her presence isn’t only felt in the proximity.
It’s found in the touch of her nails, gently scraping through the hair above my ear. “What kind of sneakers?”
“The white, black, and red low-top Jordans. I probably would have gotten my ass kicked and had them stolen, but I just wanted them.”
Her eyes travel across the room to stare into her own memories. “Those were always so cool. I had pink and white ones.”
I sink into the gulf of peace she brings me and then take her other hand in mine to bring to my lips and kiss.
Still holding it, I continue, “I walked by some five-star restaurant where the opera crowd was gathering to have dinner. They were dressed in tuxes and long dresses. The women were wearing lots of jewelry. Anyway, I talked a few of the ladies into buying, who then told their husbands to chip in to buy me out. I’d hit the jackpot.
I walked away sold out, a hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket, and one of the women had given me her after-dinner mint. ” I hold it up. “Just like this.”
Her smile brightens the room more than the sun filtering in through the windows. “Did you buy the shoes?”
“No. I was about to. I had planned to take the train out to Jersey to the mall, but my mom’s shoes were parked by the door next to mine. She needed new soles more than I needed sneakers that fit.”
“You bought your mom shoes?”
I release her to drop my head and rub the bridge of my nose to break up the water forming in the corners of my eyes.
Damn, the heaviness of the long-forgotten memory hits me harder than I could have expected.
“She did the best she could.” My canned response comes quickly.
The excuse to defend her has always been ready on the tip of my tongue, but I realize I don’t genuinely say it to defend her when she’s not paying much attention to me.
I’ve been saying it, so no one thinks less of me for having parents who couldn’t be there for me, which cost them nothing and would have meant more than shoes ever could have.
Tilting my head back, I tap it to the headboard before resting it there. “She needed them more than I did.”
She scooches closer, her body just kissing mine without the pressure to cause any pain. “You’re a good man, Poet. You always have been.”
“I don’t know about that, but things work out how they’re supposed to.”
“Even with us?”
Her gaze slides to our hands held between us.
“I was fucking miserable after that night. Knowing what I had and lost was worse than never having it at all. But—” I look at her.
When her eyes greet mine, and a smile appears, I add, “I’m starting to believe this is how it was meant to work out.
Time and perspective allow me to see things in a new light I couldn’t back then. ”
“I would have preferred we’d had those years together.”
My cheeks split in reaction. How did I deserve this incredible woman? I lean over. “Ow.” And kiss her despite the pain because deep down, I gave her the answer I tell myself, but I wish we had had those years together as well.
“Time for meds.”
She hands them to me with a glass of water. As soon as I swallow them, I say, “You know what would make me feel so much better, Nurse Sosie?”
“What?” She appears ready to serve, which only makes me hard again.
“You naked.”
The bubble of trying to be all serious bursts with her laughter.
Taking the chocolate from my hand, she unwraps it and says, “Open wide.” I do as I’m told and eat the mint chocolate.
As soon as it’s melting in my mouth, she cocks a brow as a smirk comes over her.
“That will have to do for now.” Walking toward the door, she grips onto the frame and, with her weight hanging from her fingertips, she adds, “Until I get back. I have an apartment to go see.”
We’ve managed to loop back to where this all started—her leaving when all I want is for her to stay. But I set my selfish wants aside and butter my English muffin like a good patient. “Will I see you later?”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Poet.” Righting herself, she moves to the hall and looks back. “I may not be trained, but I have every intention of nursing you back to good health.” She dashes back and gives me a kiss. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”
As soon as she takes a step, I say, “I miss you.”
Her laughter trickles out as she walks to the door. One glance over her shoulder, and she says, “I already miss you, too.”