“Ugh.”
“Trust me, by the end of this week, you’re going to appreciate that pillow mist.”
His phone pings in his coat pocket, and he smiles when he looks at the screen. “I’m going to head out for a bit, but I’ll see you in the morning. Rest well.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Charlie finally heads downstairs, leaving me alone in this penthouse guest suite that looks like it was styled byArchitectural Digest.
Fine, so the pillow mist smells nice.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a second, staring out at the skyline through a floor-to-ceiling window. The lights stretch all the way to the ocean. It’s beautiful, dazzling, and completely not me.
I tug off my shoes, strip down to a T-shirt and boxers, and then brush my teeth. Once I wash my face and turn out the bathroom light, I plop down on the bed again, elbows on my knees. I wish Roxanne were here.
I grab my phone. Just holding it makes my chest tighten. I scroll to her number and hover over the message box. I’m forty-two, for God’s sake, and here I am staring at my phone like a kid with his first crush.
Finally, I start typing.
Hey, Trouble…
Delete.
Made it to LA. How’s Jameson?
Delete.
Miss your face.
Ugh. Delete.
I drag my hand through my hair, then type again.
So, funny thing. Made it to LA. Turns out Charlie has a billboard on Sunset. In his underwear. Last time I saw him in his underwear, he was about to jump in a pond.
I pause, then smirk and add:
Send help. Or distractions.
And then, just to push my luck—because I know she’ll laugh:
My thumb hovers over “send,” and I shake my head. “You’re an idiot,” I mutter … but I press it anyway.
A beat later, I type one more message:
Miss you already.
I drop the phone on the nightstand, flop back on the ridiculous thousand-thread-count bed, and stare at the ceiling. I already know sleep’s gonna be hard to come by without her beside me.
miss you already
ROXANNE
I was preparedto wake up to Jameson licking my face, which is why I covered it with my pillow, but he zeros in on my exposed toes instead. I yelp as he licks them, and then happily grunts, satisfied he’s woken me up.
I’d gone to bed last night wrestling with whether I should text him. I picked up my phone at least three times, but I didn’t want to seem needy, or worse, like I was already attached. So, I did the mature thing and shoved my phone under my pillow and told myself to act normal.
But now?
