“Oh, my god. Hey, Callie. I’m fucking sorry.” His voice sounded gruff, like he’d gotten no sleep, and every worry left me. “I swear I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“Is everything okay?” I slowed down to a walk.
“No. Well, I’m fine, but shit is a mess.” He sighed and I pictured him running his fingers over his hair. “I can’t tell you, babe. I want to, but it’s not my business. Did I wake you?”
“No. I went for a run today. I needed to clear my mind.”
“Shit. I probably caused that. I’m sorry, again. Are you mad?” He grumbled something in the background and I chose to trust him. It was a tough choice, because it left the possibility of getting hurt. I chose it anyway.
“I’m not mad. I’m worried though. We haven’t gone that long without talking, and naturally, I assumed the worse.”
“I know. I’m sorry again. If this were reserved… Let’s say you are handling it better. Look, I don’t know when we’re coming back, but I’ll come see you as soon as I can, okay?”
“I’d like that.”I couldn’t say much else, right?
“Thank you for understanding. I gotta run.”
I said goodbye and although the call calmed my stomach, my unease remained. He must’ve known because I got a text from him.
Zade: I miss you. I wish you were here.
I smiled at his words. I smiled a whole lot.
* * * *
It wasn’t until Sunday night that I heard from him again. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder and it rang true. I hated the saying, though. Greta won the award for the best friend ever in his absence. We ran errands and made a game of it. It took my mind offhimfor a good part of the day, but whenever I let my thoughts get away from me, thoughts ofhimtook over. I even met with Radcliffe for an hour over coffee and we compared notes of our first week. We made plans for the same time the next week.
I’d just begun cutting chicken into pieces, planning a mushroom-stuffed chicken meal before our Sunday night shows came on, when the door pounded. Greta barely acknowledged the sound and I raised my hands, covered with chicken goobies. “Can you get it?”
“Sure.” I didn’t turn to look, but I heard Greta laugh. “It’s for you, babe.”
“Yeah?” I didn’t have time to register who it was before Zade seized my face in his hands and kissed me like he hadn’t seen me in months, let alone two days. He smelled like a scent that was now pure Zade. His mouth claimed mine. My head spun from the worry and how much I’d missed him. He ended the kiss but kept his hands on me. He stared down at me with love…or lust…or something. “Hey, there.”
“Hey.” He released my face and this time his breathing came out ragged. He leaned on the counter and noticed my hands awkwardly held in the air. “I came at the right time, eh? I’m starving.”
“Hmm. You are assuming an awful lot that you can barge in here and eat our food. This was hard earned, you know.”
“I deserved that. Look”—he ran his hand through his hair—“I don’t have to eat. But can I stay? I want to be around you. I’ll help. Just name it.” The vulnerability in his eyes at that moment would’ve gotten me to agree about anything. Legal, illegal, good, bad—it didn’t matter. Something had happened, clearly, and I needed to be there for him.
“I’d be mad if you left.” I smiled and nudged him with my hip, hands still gross. “Now, I need to finish with these breasts because I hate chicken goobies on them.”
“Chicken goobies?” His mouth lifted at the sides.
“Yup. Goobies. The weird coating you get on your hands when you touch raw chicken. These! These are goobies!” I held my hands near his face and he laughed, deep and rich in timbre.
“Only you could make the word goobies sound sexy.” He lowered his voice and Greta yelled something like “yuk” from the living room. I laughed and, gross hands and all, he pulled me into a bear hug. “I’ll let you finish cooking. Tell me about your weekend.”
“Hmm. Nothing too eventful. Errands, homework, the whole crazy college life at its finest.” I grabbed the chopped-up mushrooms I’d sautéed earlier and began stuffing them into the breasts. I avoided his stare but knew he watched my every move. “I missed you.”
“Was that so very hard to say?” he asked.
“Sort of. This weekend really tested me.” I put the chicken in the oven, washed my hands and turned to really look at him. His eyes had bags under them. His bright eyes were sad, only lightening when he looked at me. I hopped onto the counter, making my face level with his. He fit between my legs and touched me. He didn’t push me but waited for me to speak. “This is big for me to say, okay?”
“I’m listening.” He pulled the ends of my hair in a familiar way.
“I realized something. I’m not a big fan of big words, but I trust you.” He fought back a smile and the light came back into his eyes. “I went through every scenario of where you were and why I hadn’t heard from you. I went through every emotion. But in the end, I realized I trusted you. I have no reason not to and I want to really give us a shot.”
He wet his lips and brought them to mine. He opened my mouth with his tongue, telling me I’d said the right thing. I moaned into his mouth, putting my arms around his neck. He pulled me to him and I felt his hardness. I giggled. He slowly pulled his mouth from mine and gave me a skeptical look. “I must be doing something right if you’re giggling.”
