Two Weeks Later
Nerves were threatening to knock me over as I leaned against the wall in baggage claim. I was that nervous. Despite e-mailing, texting, chatting, and the occasional FaceTime session, anxiety wormed its way into every one of my body’s cells as I waited for Charli to arrive. The last time, I was prepared for disappointment and/or saying good-bye. But it had ended way better than I could have dreamed.
Now she was coming to see me, and it could go one way or another. My gut said another.
“Hey!”
I startled, so deep in thought I didn’t even see her approach.
“Hey.” I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her tight. Apparently my limbs had a mind of their own when it came to Charli.
We’ve been intimate, I reminded myself.It’s okay.
She collapsed into my embrace, our body heat mingling through my jean jacket and her thick sweater, and seventy-five percent of my nerves dissipated. Maybe if I got her naked, the rest would go away?
No, that’s not the point. She’s not here for only sex.
“You good?” she asked me.
Shit, I’d been crazy caught up in my head.
“I’m good, just thinking about how awesome this is. You’re here. For a moment, I was convinced I was dreaming.”
She pinched my arm. “I’m here.”
“You have bags?”
“Of course.”
We walked over to the carousel and waited, a pregnant pause hanging between us.
“You know,” she said, “I heard that for every two minutes of a conversation, there’s seven seconds of silence.”
I pulled her in again and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry. This just caught me by surprise, how happy I am to see you. I mean, I knew I’d be happy, but this is different. Overwhelming. And it’s early.”
“In a good way, I hope? Good overwhelming?”
“Extremely good.”
“By the way, don’t mention early. I’m on East Coast time, and I’ve already flown here from JFK. Do you know how early I had to be there?”
I kissed her cheek, tucked her hair behind her ear, and whispered, “I’m a lucky man for it.”
She ran her palm over my cheek and smiled. No words were needed to convey she was happy to be here. The clammy sweat on my palms dried up.
“So, what’s going on?” she asked. “What’s our plan?”
And just like that, the last few lingering nerves flitted away. I didn’t even need sex. Just the idea of us having plans.
“Well, it’s Friday, so most of the guys try to cut out of whatever they’re doing early. So happy hour later. But first, maybe a little tour? Lunch? Quiet time?”
She waggled her eyebrows at me. “You know, I also heard that men think about sex every seven seconds. We wrote a piece on it atBubblePOP.”
“That’s a nasty rumor. It’s actually every nine seconds.”
We both laughed so hard, we bent over clutching our stomachs. And just like that, we were back to being long-time friends and newfound lovers.
“Oh, there’s my bag,” Charli said, interrupting our giggles.
