CHAPTER 29
Palmer
We spend the next few days just talking.
Literally.
Just talking, despite the fact our text message exchanges are littered with more than a few suggestive photos of myself in varying states of undress.
Most of the time, it’s via text, but Bailey always calls me in the evenings.
The first day or two, I consciously positioned myself in ways that showed more than a little too much cleavage or let my shorts ride up a bit too high as I moved around the room while we video called each other, hoping to catch his gaze flicker, even if just for a moment, and let his mind wander.
But no. Not so much as a glance (at least not one that I notice).
No wonder he’s a secret agent or Navy Seal or whatever the hell he won’t/can’t tell me. The man is like a steel trap.
He asks me how my day was and about my kids, remembering them each by name, which is weirdly endearing. Clay never bothered.
Whenever the video call opens, Bailey greets me with a genuine smile and some variation of “Hey, beautiful.” Even when I try to steer the conversation in an unsavory direction, he expertly charts it back on course, his dark eyes earnest and a quick smile on his lips.
Every night, I dread hanging up the phone, and every morning, I wake up excited to see his name across my screen. I live in anticipation of his next message or hearing the smile in his voice when he says my name.
The night before he is set to fly back, we make plans for me to drive him home from the airport after I get off work. Just the thought of seeing him in person again ties my stomach in knots and sends my brain into overdrive, thinking about what to wear.
What would Bailey like me to wear? What will he want to eat? What will he think when he sees me again? Will he regret anything we’ve done already? Will he regret me?
We hang up our call, the sound of his deep voice still reverberating in my chest, and I stare up at my dark ceiling. My covers cocoon around me, but my body trembles, aware of the truth that my mind has fought so long to deny.
“I’m falling for him,” I say out loud to myself and the universe.
My brain whispers the part I know truer than the rest, the part I don’t want to say out loud: And that’s really fucking scary.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t do this.
Not with him, not with anyone.
I wanted a ho phase. I’m getting a ho phase (with one guy consistently at this point, but who’s counting, really?). I didn’t want this. I don’t want this, I try to convince myself. More than that, I can’t have it.
Because what if he’s just like Clay?
What if he’s just being great now because of the sex? What if he’s mean and selfish and a cheater who only cares about himself and—
“What if he’s not?” I muse aloud.
Because as much as Clay was all of those things, Bailey is not.
Bailey is kind and funny and caring and protective and… everything I’ve ever wanted in a guy. He could be like Clay, but he’s not.
He’s Bailey.
And Bailey doesn’t want this either. He can’t have it because his job doesn’t allow for it. He’s told me that.
I close my eyes against the darkness, and although my stomach churns and my mind races, my heart has already made its decision: Let’s just see where this goes and go from there.
My breathing slows as I doze off to the whispering on a loop in my brain: And we’ll deal with the inevitable fallout later.