Jamie doesn’t waste any time. He grabs my hand and tugs me in that direction.
I follow, and we weave around high tables until the elevator doors appear. His hand feels so good around mine that I forget to push one of the buttons until he gives my fingers a squeeze. “You gonna tell me the floor number?”
“Uh, nine. I’m pretty sure.” We stayed here one night already, but when you visit as many hotels as I do, it’s hard to keep track. I fumble into my jacket pocket for the key card.
Jamie grins and punches the button.
TWENTY-NINE
JAMIE
A minute later we’re swiping into room 909. When the door clicks behind us, I have a moment of true uncertainty. It’s not cold feet. I know what I want to do. It’s just that I don’t know how.
I’ve never told anyone that I wanted to spend the rest of our lives together before. I know he loves me, but it’s still a risky conversation.
So I do a lap of the generous hotel room, with its sleek hipster furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows. “Nice place,” I say, checking out the view.
When I turn back to Wes, he’s watching me. “It’s nicer now than it was before.” Shrugging off his suit jacket, he tosses it at a chair. He hasn’t turned on any lights, but his handsome face is illuminated by the glow of downtown Dallas. Ryan Wesley in a suit, ladies and gentlemen. There are very few sights as impressive as this one.
I’m staring. And I’ve still got the box clutched in my hand. “Okay,” I blurt out. “So I made you something with my sister’shelp, and I got on a plane. But now I’m worried you’ll think it’s crazy.”
“Well…” He clears his throat. “I promise I won’t. I’m just so happy to see you.” He steps into my personal space and puts his arms around me. “I thought you weren’t coming back. Maybe that’s dumb, but…” He shoves his face into my collar and takes a big breath of me.
All right. So I’m starting with an apology. My free hand lands on his back. “I’m sorry I was a dick. That…sucked.” Eloquent. Not.
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just panicked.”
“No,Idid.” I take a deep breath and lean against him. “I have a situation at work. I screwed everything up and I didn’t want to tell you. It’s embarrassing. I was worried about money, too. So I just shut you out. How shitty is that?”
His warm hands wander my back. “Baby, you were too sad to think straight. If you’re feeling a little better now, that’s all I really care about.”
My first impulse is to argue with his diagnosis of the problem. I don’t want to be the guy who fell apart. But Iwasthat guy. And maybe my mom is right about the steroids messing with my body chemistry. But whatever the reason, I lost it there for a little while. It’s not fair to Wes if I deny it. “I think I’m getting better now,” I say instead.
“Good.” His grip tightens. “That’s all I want, okay? That’s everything.”
There isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind that he means it. I don’t know how I got so lucky to find someone who loves me as thoroughly as Wes does. How many people ever find that?
Time to man up, then.
I take a half step back, forcing Wes to relinquish me, andlook down at the box in my hand. He’s going to think it’s ridiculous.
Taking a deep breath, I decide that’s okay. It doesn’t matter. It’s an important gesture, and it got me all the way to Dallas to apologize, right?
I’m staring at the box now like it contains a venomous snake.
“Do I ever get to open that or what?” Wes asks with a laugh.
Wordlessly, I offer it to him. He weighs it in his hand and then looks at me. “Not heavy,” he says. “Doesn’t rattle.” He lifts the lid to reveal the tissue paper we cushioned it with. Hell, it’s probably broken, which makes the whole idea even stupider than it already was.
I’ll just go hide under one of those thousand-dollar leather chairs now.
Wes’s big hand pulls back the tissue. He squints at the thing inside. Then he carries the box over to the window to see it better. “It’s…made of purple Skittles?”
“Yeah.” My voice is like gravel.
He picks it up in two fingers, the one-inch circular shape outlined against the city lights. “It’s a…?” He bites off the question, as if afraid to guess wrong.
“Ring,” I croak. “You…I…” My mouth is like sandpaper. “In that interview, you said you wanted…” Deep breaths. “To get married some day. And I think that’s something we should do.”
