“Remove the pillow.”
I set it aside.
His face fills the screen, and I’m in full view of his beautiful eyes. I swallow down my nervousness and wait for his judgment. It doesn’t happen.
“Never apologize for sharing your desires with me. In fact, I encourage you to tell me what you want. Am I clear?”
Want and not need. Liking his choice of words, I blink back the tears and smile. “Crystal.”
His fingers glide over the screen. “Your eyes, sweetness. There’s sadness in them.”
Oh God, he’s wiping away the tears pooling in my eyes with his finger on the screen. Tears prickle my eyes anew.
“Tell me what makes you sad and I’ll do everything in my power to make it better.”
“You can’t.” I sniffle and wipe the back of my hand over my eyes.
“Try me.”
I blink back my tears. My throat tightens. When I speak, my voice is hoarse, like I’ve been screaming in pain. “When I’m with you, talking with you, I want to share my memories of my mom and best friend with you. Others aren’t talking about them as much as they used to, like they’re forgetting them, and it hurts here.” I ball my hand on the spot above my heart.
“You lost your mom, sweetness?”
“When I was fifteen.”
“Aw, baby, I’m sorry for your loss. Grief is hard, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say on a strangled whisper.
“Tell me until it doesn’t hurt here anymore, sweetheart.” He places his palm over his heart.
Telling him about my mom will be nice, but . . . “You won’t mind me talking about another man?”
“I’m not jealous of a best friend who watches out for you from heaven, babe.”
I told him I’d never be a man’s baby, babe, or sweetheart, but Bobby . . . Bobby’s pet names endear him to me more.
“If talking about him makes you happy, why would I have an issue with it? Happiness is important, and we should get it when and where we can.”
I’m discovering I like his motto.
I flip onto my stomach and set the cell phone on my pillow. My hair falls around my face, and my tank top gapes, showing cleavage. Bobby’s gaze doesn’t drop below my mouth.
My chest aches in a good way. He is a gentleman compared to the college guys who hit on me at parties. Their eyes go to my chest and stay there.
“Beautiful?”
“Hmm?” My voice comes out dreamy.
“I don’t give two fucks that we met four hours ago. Being around you, it’s like I’ve known you since I was born.”
“I’d still be in heaven, you know?”
He chuckles. “Does my age bother you?”
“Seven years isn’t bad. My best friend was ten years older.” I’m sharing a small piece of Carlos that isn’t super personal, but it feels good to talk about him without raising suspicion or getting a blank or curious stare if I were to bring up Carlos’s name to my friends. I didn’t talk about him other than to share that he was the owner of the nightclub I loved dancing at.
“Does my age bother you?” I ask.
