Anxiety hits like a brick, because I hadn’t meant to.
Shit.
I mean, I do. Love him. I’ve always loved him, but not in the way I love him now.
Definitely not like I love him now…
“I’m sorry, I—” I barely get the words out before his hands are on my face, before his mouth is on mine.
His lips move hurriedly against mine, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
My hands slide up his chest until my arms wrap around his neck and I pull him closer. I tangle my fingers in the edges of his hair, his sandalwood scent filling my lungs.
I love him.
I love him so fucking much and I want to stay here forever. In his arms.
“I love you, too, Austen,” he says softly. “Always have. And I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”
He leans his forehead against mine, and for a moment, it’s quiet. One glance at the clock over the stove tells me we both need to get going.
“You’re going to be late for your meeting,” I tell him.
I think he’s going to argue for a moment, tell me he’s changed his mind.
“I’ll text you when I get out,” he says. I nod in response.
“Okay.”
I push him away lightly, hating to see him go, but we can’t stay here and make out in his kitchen all morning, no matter how badly I want that.
I finish wiping up the counter and walk him to the door.
He stops, looking back at me, giving me a soft smile, and then he leaves.
I turn around, taking in the sight of his apartment, realizing for the first time in ten days I’m completely alone.
It’s strange. I’ve lived most of the last six years practically alone.
You’d think I’d be perfectly fine with it. But there’s a sort of emptiness without Cameron. It’s different.
I make my way to his bedroom, my gaze falling on his unmade bed.
The sheets are a tangled mess, from our rolling around in them all morning. Even now as I look at them, I can imagine his body, lying there, naked, fists gripping the sheets while I bury myself inside him. I can still hear him moaning my name.
But I can also see myself tangled up in his arms, my leg between his as I breathe him in. I can see my arm draped over his hip as he sleeps soundly.
Even without him here, he’s still here. All around me.
I pull on a fresh shirt and a pair of chinos. The nagging desire to make the bed is prevalent, but I leave it.
I don’t want to erase the work of art our bodies made.
So for now, I’ll leave it, and perhaps later we can erase it and make something new.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Brewer,” Margo says as she collects the papers, filing them and then bundling them in her arms. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch as she leaves the office, expecting to feel panic or anxiety, but I feel none of that.
