“I don’t mind driving to your apartment,” she protested. I could hear the continued clicking of her keyboard, her attention waning. Her voice was sounding far away.
“Are you worried I’ll find all those skeletons in your closet?” I joked.
Hannah’s laughter was strained.
“Okay, you can come here. But I’m not cleaning up for you. You’ve been warned.”
“I won’t make any snarky comments about your housekeeping, I promise,” I said.
“Be here about eight o’clock?”
“If you’re going to be any later, just text me.”
“I’ll make sure I’m home. No problem,” she assured me.
“If Mr. Healey gives you any shit, let me know. I’ll come by and you can introduce him to your badass FBI agent boyfriend.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Boyfriend?” she asked, and my mouth went dry.
Too fast?
I could never quite tell with Hannah. When she was hot, she was smoldering. I couldn’t get enough.
But then when she was cold, I was left confused and bewildered.
She said she had been hurt before. She had alluded to relationship baggage. I understood. Who hadn’t had their heart broken?
I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to the story. What had happened to make being with her like sitting on a seesaw?
But it was addictive and I wanted to stay on the ride.
“Can I be your boyfriend, Hannah?” I asked softly, feeling a bit like an idiot.
I heard a soft intake of air on the other end. As if Hannah was sucking in a breath.
To let me down easily?
To tell me to go fuck off?
“Sure. You can be my boyfriend, Mason,” Hannah murmured, and I relaxed.
“Yeah?” I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face.
“Yeah,” she agreed quietly but surely.
This was a definite.
Wewere a definite.
“Now that that’s established, your boyfriend will be by at eight o’clock.”
“Sounds good. I can’t wait to see you.” She sounded sincere. I knew she meant it.
She was all in.
Just like me.
