Chapter Nine
Shawn
A week later
My new apartment was a shithole.
"As you can see, it's got great bones," the landlord said, gesturing at the studio that was barely bigger than my current bedroom. "And the location can't be beat."
The location was three blocks from Nicole's building. That was the only reason I was standing in this glorified closet with water stains on the ceiling and a radiator that clanked like it was possessed.
"When's it available?" I asked.
"First of the month. You'd be looking at first, last, security deposit." He named a figure that made my jaw clench. "Lots of interest in this one."
I bet. New York real estate was a special kind of hell.
"I'll take it."
His eyebrows shot up. "You want to think about it? See some other places?"
"No. I'll take it."
Twenty minutes later, I was walking out with a lease in my hand and significantly less money in my bank account. The apartment was too small and too expensive and the kitchen was barely functional.
But it was mine. And it was three blocks from Nicole.
I pulled out my phone and texted her. Got the apartment. Move in date is December 1st.
Three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared. Then appeared again.
That's wonderful. I'm happy for you.
I stared at the message. Formal. Distant. Nothing like the woman who'd fallen apart in my arms a week ago. Nothing like the woman who'd admitted this was more than just sex.
We'd been doing this dance all week. Her pulling back whenever things got too real. Me trying to give her space while also proving I wasn't going anywhere.
It was exhausting.
My phone buzzed with another text. Can we talk tonight? I need to tell you something.
My stomach dropped. Those words never meant anything good.
Your place or mine?
Yours. After work?
I'll be here.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and headed toward the gym where I'd been training clients all week. It should have felt like progress. Like I was building something real.
Instead, it felt like I was bracing for impact.
***
SHE SHOWED UP AT MY door just after dark, still in her work clothes. But something was different. Her hair was down instead of pulled back. Her blouse was untucked slightly. She looked rumpled in a way that had nothing to do with our usual activities.
And fucking beautiful.
"Hey," I said, stepping aside to let her in.
"Hey." She walked past me into the living room, and I caught a hint of her perfume. The same scent that had been driving me crazy all week while she kept me at arm's length.
"You want some wine? I picked up that Pinot you like."
"No. I need to tell you this sober." She turned to face me, and I could see the nerves written all across her face. "I quit my job today."
Whatever I'd been expecting, it wasn't that. "You what?"
"I quit. Gave my two weeks notice. Walked into David's office and told him I was done."
I moved closer, trying to read her expression. Trying not to focus on how her blouse gaped slightly at the collar, giving me a glimpse of skin I wanted to taste. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. Everything happened." She laughed, but it sounded shaky. "I've spent the past week in my new role. Junior accounts. Entry-level work. The kind of stuff I was doing eight years ago. And you know what I realized?"
"What?"
"I didn't miss it. The senior VP track, the prestige, the corner office I was chasing.
None of it." She looked up at me. "I spent the week working on campaigns for small businesses.
A local bakery. A family-owned bookstore.
An indie coffee roaster. And for the first time in years, I actually cared about the work.
I could feel the passion behind these brands. I understood what made them special."
"Nicole—"
"David was right. I had forgotten how to feel.
But it wasn't because I'm cold or broken.
It was because I'd spent so long chasing someone else's definition of success that I'd forgotten what actually mattered to me.
" She was talking faster now, animated in a way I hadn't seen all week.
"I don't want to be senior VP of a firm that handles multimillion dollar accounts for corporations that don't give a damn about anything except their bottom line.
I want to work with people who actually care about what they're building. "
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'm starting my own consulting firm. Small businesses, local brands, people who need real marketing strategy but can't afford the big agencies.
" She laughed again, and this time it sounded more real.
"I have no idea what I'm doing. I might fail spectacularly.
But at least I'll fail doing something I actually care about. "
The pride that surged through me was almost overwhelming. "You're incredible. You know that?"
"I'm unemployed in two weeks with no real plan and a mortgage to pay."
"You're taking a risk on something that matters to you. That's not nothing." I closed the distance between us, unable to stay away any longer. "I'm so fucking proud of you."
She looked up at me, her lips parting slightly. "You are?"
"Yeah." I reached out and tucked that loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on her neck. "You're finally doing something for yourself instead of trying to prove you're worthy of some bullshit corporate ladder."
"I'm scared."
"I know. But you're doing it anyway." I slid my hand to the back of her neck, feeling her pulse jump under my fingers. "That's the Nicole I know. The one who shows up at my door ready to fight even when she's wearing nothing but a silk robe."
A smile tugged at her lips. "I was really angry that morning."
"You were really beautiful. Still are."
"Even though I'm unemployed with no plan?"
"Especially because you're unemployed with no plan." I pulled her closer, until our bodies were almost touching. "It means you're finally living instead of just surviving."
She swayed into me, and I felt her breath hitch. "Your turn. Tell me about the apartment."
"It's small. Overpriced. The kitchen is a joke and I'm pretty sure something died in the walls at some point."
"Sounds charming."
"It's three blocks from you."
Her eyes widened. "You got an apartment three blocks from me."
"Yeah. And I've got enough clients lined up to cover rent for the next three months at least. Tommy's been connecting me with people. I might actually be able to make this work."
"Shawn." How she said my name, soft and wondering, made me want to hear her say it in entirely different circumstances.
"I told you I wasn't leaving. I meant it."
"But Justin—"
"Justin can have his apartment back. I'll figure out my own life." I slid my hand from her neck down her spine, feeling her arch slightly into the touch. "I want to be here. With you."
"What if we're making a mistake? What if we're both just running toward each other because we're scared of being alone?"
"Are you? Running toward me because you're scared of being alone?"
She was quiet for a moment, considering the question seriously. "No. I'm running toward you because you make me want to be someone different. Someone who takes risks and feels things and doesn't have her whole life mapped out in five-year increments."
"Then we're not making a mistake." I leaned down until my mouth was just inches from hers. "We're just two people who are choosing each other. Even though it's messy and scary and neither of us knows what the hell we're doing."
"That's not very reassuring."
"Would you rather I lie and tell you I have it all figured out?"
"No." She smiled, and it was the first real smile I'd seen from her all week. "I'm done with people who pretend to have all the answers."
"Good. Because I'm making this up as I go." I closed the distance between us, my lips brushing against hers. "But I'm very good at making things up."
She laughed against my mouth, and the sound went straight to my dick. "Cocky."
"You love it."
"I love you." The words came out breathless. "I'm scared and confused and I have no idea if we're going to work out. But I love you, Shawn."
Hearing her say it, clearly and without hedging, made something shift in my chest. "I love you too. Even though you're a mess and I'm a mess and we're both probably going to screw this up somehow."
"We can screw it up together."
"That's my girl." I kissed her properly then, deep and demanding, and felt her melt against me. A week of careful distance, of her keeping me at arm's length, had been torture. Having her in my arms again felt like everything clicking back into place.
She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and pressed closer, her hands fisting in my shirt. When I pulled back, her lips were swollen and her eyes had gone dark.
"Bedroom," I said. "Now."
"Bossy."
"You love that too."
"I do." She bit her lower lip, and I nearly lost it right there. "Show me how much you missed me this week."
"Baby, I'm going to show you exactly what a week without you does to a man."
I lifted her, and her legs wrapped around my waist automatically. She was already kissing my neck, my jaw, anywhere she could reach, as I carried her to the bedroom.
"I missed this," she said against my throat. "I missed you."
"You had me. You've been pushing me away all week."
"I was scared."
"I know." I set her on the bed and stood back to look at her. Hair messed up, blouse untucked, cheeks flushed. "But you're not scared now, are you?"
"Not of this." She reached for the buttons of her blouse. "Never of this."
"Let me." I caught her hands and pinned them gently to the bed. "I've been thinking about undressing you all week."
I took my time with each button, watching her squirm as I revealed more skin. When I finally peeled the blouse off her shoulders, she was breathing hard and her nipples were visible through the thin lace of her bra.
"You're killing me," she gasped.
"Good." I traced one finger along the edge of her bra, not quite touching where she wanted. "You've been killing me for seven days. Turnabout's fair play."
"Shawn, please."
"Please what?"
"Touch me. I need you to touch me."
I loved hearing her beg. Loved watching her lose that control she clung to so desperately. "Where do you want me to touch you, Nicole?"
"Everywhere." She arched up, pressing her breast into my palm. "Please."
I gave in, finally taking her nipple into my mouth through the lace. She cried out, her hands flying to my hair. I worked her through the fabric until she was writhing beneath me, then moved to the other breast.
"Off," she demanded, tugging at my shirt. "I want this off."
I pulled back long enough to yank my shirt over my head, and she immediately ran her hands over my chest and abs, her touch hungry and possessive.
"I've been thinking about this too," she admitted. "Every night this week. Lying in bed, remembering how you feel."
"Just feel?" I unzipped her skirt and slid it down her legs, leaving her in nothing but black lace. "Or did you remember other things?"
Her face flushed. "Other things."
"Tell me." I settled between her thighs, running my hands up her legs. "I want to hear what you were thinking about."
"Your mouth," she said, her voice barely audible. "How you use your mouth on me."
"Like this?" I pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, high enough that she gasped.
"Yes."
"Tell me more."
"Your hands. How you touch me like you can't get enough."
I ran my hands up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. "I can't get enough. Every time with you, I just want more."
"Shawn." My name came out as a plea.
"What do you need, baby?"
"You. Inside me. I need to feel you."
I made quick work of the rest of our clothes, then settled between her thighs. "Look at me."
She opened her eyes, and the trust and want I saw there nearly undid me.
"I love you," I said, positioning myself at her entrance. "And I'm never letting you push me away again."
"Don't let me," she breathed. "Even when I try."
I pushed inside her slowly, watching her face as she stretched to accommodate me. A week apart, and she still felt like the best thing I'd ever experienced.
"Move," she demanded when I was fully seated. "Please move."
I did, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had her gasping beneath me. But slow didn't last long. Not when she was meeting me thrust for thrust, her nails digging into my shoulders, her legs wrapped around my waist pulling me deeper.
"Harder," she panted. "I need more."
I gave her what she asked for, driving into her with all the pent-up need from a week of distance. She took everything I gave her and demanded more, and I loved her for it.
"Touch yourself," I said. "I want to feel you come around me."
She slid her hand between us, her fingers finding her clit, and the sight of her pleasuring herself while I was inside her was almost too much.
"That's it, baby. Make yourself come for me."
"I'm close." Her body was already tightening around me. "So close."
"Then come. Let me feel it."
She shattered, crying out my name as her orgasm tore through her. The feel of her convulsing around me pushed me over the edge, and I followed her with a groan, burying my face in her neck as pleasure overwhelmed every sense.
We lay there afterward, both of us breathing hard, our bodies still joined.
"That was worth waiting a week for," she said.
"Don't ever make me wait a week again."
"Deal." She traced patterns on my back. "Stay like this. Just for a minute."
I shifted my weight but stayed inside her, and she sighed contentedly.
"I really do love you," she said. "Even when I'm pushing you away. Even when I'm scared. I love you."
"I know, baby. I love you too."
We lay there in comfortable silence, and for the first time since this whole thing started, I felt like we might actually make it. Not because we had it all figured out. Not because the path ahead was clear.
But because we'd both finally stopped running.