13. Rory #2
When he opens the passenger door to help me out, I ask again, just to be sure. After all, he told me about his ex-girlfriend, the one who tried to take advantage of him and this place. I don’t want to be like that.
The condo is nice, but I love Nate for who he is. Not what he has.
He kisses me again, then steps back so I can climb out of the SUV. “I appreciate you asking. But I know you’re nothing like her. I love how down to earth you are. I love that I can share this with you.”
We hold hands as we walk to the main entrance of the building, through the lobby, and up the elevator.
I’ve stayed at this condo a few times, along with another that Nate owns. But even though this isn’t my first glimpse of the space, I’m in awe as I take it all in.
The high ceilings. The massive windows that look out on the Vail ski resort. The gas fireplace and perfectly arranged furniture that make the space somehow cozy and expansive and luxurious, all at the same time.
When I picture my dream home, this isn’t it, but I can easily see how someone could get swept up in the glamour and luxury of this kind of place. The exclusivity, too, since real estate in Vail is limited by the mountain itself.
I prefer something simpler, homier. Like what I have with Nate, although this is a nice change every once in a while.
“Here you go.” Nate holds out a glass of something deep red.
I take a small sip, then a larger one, enjoying the way the tannins spread across my taste buds. I haven’t been drinking alcohol—or eating soft cheeses or deli meats, for that matter—on the off chance that this whole pregnancy thing was real.
But now that I’ve gotten my period, I’m feeling more and more confident that it was all a false positive, or maybe one of those early miscarriages.
I lift the glass to my lips again and take a long swallow, savoring the complex flavors of vanilla and berry. It’s good—really good—and I find myself taking a second sip before turning to face Nate.
He’s gazing at me like he’s seeing me in a new light. It’s almost too intense, but the soft smile on his face makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“I love you, Rory,” he says after a minute. “Everything about you.”
I set the wineglass on the side table and wrap my arms around him. “I love you, too.”
He leans down to speak directly in my ear, his voice deepening. “Now get your ass in the bedroom. I need to be inside you.”
I want that, too, but while getting my period was a blessing to the whole pregnancy scare, it’s putting a damper on the romance.
I step back, my cheeks coloring. “I, uh. I have my period.”
I think I mentioned it earlier, but honestly, the afternoon is a bit fuzzy.
When I realized I’d started, the relief that I wasn’t pregnant flooded through me, and I rode that high for hours.
I’m still elated that I got my period, not to mention that this one seems like a light one. And I know Nate isn’t weirded out by period talk like some guys. He’s even bought tampons for me.
So this is just me embracing the whole transparency thing. See? No more hiding things.
“Do I look like I give a fuck?” he asks, his smirk not wavering. “Go do what you need to do and then meet me in the bedroom.”
I’m still blushing as I carry my wine into the bathroom.
The space is expansive, with a massive shower with not one but two showerheads, a large jetted tub, and a toilet that’s separated from the rest of the space into its own closed-off room.
The gleaming white tile gives the whole thing a spa-like vibe.
I set my wineglass on the counter by the sink, then close myself into the small toilet area to relieve myself. When I wipe, there doesn’t seem to be any more blood, just the small spot on the pad in my underwear.
Maybe I hit the jackpot this month. It happens every now and then, an ultra-light period that makes me almost forget about the agony that was every month before I got my IUD.
Of course, it’s also possible that this is just a preview, and my period will come raging back tomorrow with a vengeance. Aunt Flo has been known to do that, too, as well as random spotting that seems to have no relation to my actual cycle.
But I’ll take whatever this is, at least for now. Even if the light bleeding was just a preview, the fact that it’s stopped for now will let me share a romantic night with Nate without the stress of making a mess of the luxury linens.
I finish what I’m doing, and as I open the door to wash my hands, I realize the shower is already running.
Nate stands by the shower door. He’s naked other than the white towel that wraps around his waist, dipping low in the front.
I drag my gaze over his muscles and down to the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the towel.
When I bring my gaze up to meet his eyes, he smirks.
“Get those clothes off and get in here,” he says, tilting his head toward the shower.
Steam billows from above the glass door, already beginning to fill the room as the two showerheads both run at full blast.
Nate reaches for his towel, and as I follow his movement, I realize his erection is tenting the terry cloth.
I lick my lips involuntarily. I love having this effect on him.
Maybe it’s the heady feeling of having this kind of power over a man, or maybe it’s the wine already going to my head.
I run my gaze over him again as he pulls the towel away from his body. I don’t even bother trying to hide it. We’re past that.
We’re past hiding anything about ourselves.
There’s a point in every relationship when you no longer have to show your partner only your best self, when you can let them see all of you, good or bad. Pecs and abs or cellulite and scars.
It’s comforting and terrifying and freeing, all at the same time.
Nate’s seen me without makeup. He’s witnessed me walking around the house in sweatpants and has seen the way I look when I’m covered in hay and horse manure after a long day at work.
It hasn’t seemed to faze him.
But at the same time, this isn’t just Nate anymore, the guy I dated in high school.
It’s Officer Patterson, the hometown police officer. The one all the town’s single women in their twenties and thirties swoon over, and for good reason.
No matter how many times I see it, it’s hard to convince myself that this is the boy I fell for in high school.
And it’s even harder to convince myself that he’s mine, because holy hell. He’s out of my league.
I just have to make sure he doesn’t realize it.