She cups my face. “Never lose hope, Xander.”
I know hope is important to her. There was a text conversation about her days in the orphanage and hope. It’s another reminder to me about how special she is. And it makes me want to protect her against the world and anyone who tries to harm her.
“Don’t lose hope in me,” I whisper to her and blink as emotion overcomes me.
I’m a man who can’t remember over a decade of important pieces of his life. And it plays with my mind, making me question who I am and what kind of person. And I think about Charlotte and all she’s already gone through, and then I think about what I’ve put her through and still am, and my soul gets crushed. I struggle with hatred toward myself for hurting her, my inability to remember my own life, and my thoughts and feelings for an ex-flame I’m told I shouldn’t think twice about, when the most beautiful woman on earth is right in front of me.
“Shh.” She puts her finger to my lips. “I won’t. I promise.”
I blink. A tear falls down my cheek, and I turn away from her, ashamed of my inability to have my life together.
She kisses my tear away, and her luscious lips are on mine, pulling me back into the Nirvana that only exists with her.
“Stay the night,” she whispers.
“Yeah? I can?”
“Yeah.” She reclaims my lips as hers, and I realize how alone and empty I’ve felt these last few months, like a piece of my soul has been missing.
Charlotte makes me feel whole again. As messed up as my head is, she still wants me and is putting up with shit she shouldn’t have to deal with. But she is.
I cup her face and pull back from her kiss. “Hey.”
She scans my eyes.
“I have a Scrabble game to beat you at.”
She laughs.
“You have some blankets?”
She tilts her head at me. “Yes. Why?”
“I’ll play in my boxers. Clothing is optional for you, but I’m biased toward your black silk robe.” I wink at her.
Charlotte arches a brow. “Is this your way of trying to distract me?”
“It’s my way of trying to keep you half naked all night, but I won’t have a problem undressing you again when the time comes.”
“Is that all talk or a promise?”
I lick my lips and say, “That’s a promise.”
Wearing hardlyany clothes and wrapped up in blankets, we eat cold Chinese food and play Scrabble for hours, creating medical words any average person would find disgusting or not even know is a word.
We’re on our third game, which is the tiebreaker, and Charlotte creates a word worth 167 points.
“You have to be kidding me,” I groan.
She throws her arm in the air. “I win!”
“You’re the master of gore,” I tell her.
She beams.
I laugh. “That’s pretty hot.”
“That’s what you told me the first night you met me.”
