I sigh. There’s no escaping the pair of them. “She’s…” I pause, the words catching. “She’s something else. Strong, sharp, kind, and so damn beautiful it’s almost unfair.”
Aisling beams. “Oh, he’s gone.”
“I’m not gone,” I protest.
Cormac grins. “You’re absolutely gone, mate.”
Aisling leans closer to the camera, voice softening. “Then don’t waste it, Rog. Don’t let her slip through your fingers. You’re both adults, you can figure the rest out.”
Cormac nods. “Exactly. Feelings like that don’t come around often, and from the way she spoke about you, I’d say she’s already halfway there.”
That catches me off guard. “She said that?”
He winks. “Didn’t have to. You should’ve heard the tone.”
I can’t help the small smile that creeps in, even as I shake my head. “You two are a menace.”
“Maybe,” Aisling says. “But we’re right.”
They’re beaming, and I can’t even argue. Because for all my stubbornness, for all the reasons I should keep my distance, they’re absolutely right.
I end the call and stare at the black screen for a moment longer than I should. They make it sound simple, but nothing about wanting her is simple. Not when every instinct I have is at war with the world around me.
Still, simple or not, I can’t stop the ache settled in my chest.
I start pacing circles around the kitchen. I’ve been trying to play it cool, give her her space. Not crowd her.
I see her every day at work. I check on her every afternoon. We talk plenty through text—more than I should probably admit—but it’s never enough.
She’s got her own life. Her sister’s in town. She’s young, bright, full of fire. The last thing I want is to barge in and take over, but every time my phone buzzes, I hope it’s her, and every time it isn’t, I want the ground to open up beneath my feet.
The media’s always sniffing around, hungry for a glimpse into my life. One photo, one rumor, and they’d tear her apart just for standing next to me. I can’t let that happen. If they catch us together, it’ll be everywhere.
But Christ, I’m losing my mind pretending I don’t miss her.
I pick up my phone, put it down, then pick it up again. Text, delete, type again. Finally, I give in.
Me:
Hey, kitten.
The three dots appear instantly. My heart trips over itself.
Kitten:
Hey :)
A bloody smiley face, and my chest tightens. Christ, what am I—sixteen?
Me:
Are you busy, kitten?
Kitten:
Not really. We just got back from yoga, and I’m about to attempt to find something edible in my fridge.
Yoga.
