I haven’t even looked at the apps. It was Beckett’s idea to put my phone away after I let him look through it extensively. I didn’t ask questions; I just let him do his thing.
While watching my show, I keep a cherry sucker in my mouth. The familiar flavor keeps me calm.
“Are you ready for lunch?” he asks, looking up after a few seconds. His blue light glasses are perched on his nose. He looks good in them, and it’s been my saving grace the last few days.
“We can if you’d like,” I say, sitting up and pocketing my phone.
Mocha’s eyes follow me as I stand up. I stretch before going over to Beckett, fighting the urge to just crawl into his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and never let go.
I stand behind him, and I rest my chin on top of his head, looking over the different tabs he has pulled up, all of them different reports and filled with words that I’m too lazy to read.
He takes his time logging out of his computer before turning and looking up at me. He spreads his legs, and I step in between them as his arms wrap around me, pressing his forehead to my stomach.
He pulls away, and I take off his glasses even though he looks really fucking good in them.
“I-I want to kiss you,” I whisper, my fingers gently brushing through his hair.
“Ok.”
He looks up at me, and I press my lips to his. He just pulls me into his lap, so I’m straddling him.
He’s been very patient with intimacy, or lack thereof, since the incident. I feel bad, but the most I can do right now is kisses and cuddles; anything more than that is too much.
He holds me and tells me that it’s all ok. Even though it’s anything but ok. I feel bad, but since he’s a good person, he just deals with my incoherent mumbling and kisses my forehead.
I pull away first, his hands softly on my hips as he holds me close. His dark eyes look into mine like he’s trying to read my brain, and I’m sure he can.
“Do you wanna eat the sandwiches I packed or something else?” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. I close my eyes so that I can just take in his closeness, barely even processing his question as I just take in his scent: pine, sandalwood, and something that is a little citrusy.
His hands push my oversized hoodie up and land on my waist, his thumbs gently brushing against my hip bones.
“Yeah, sandwiches are fine,” I say, as the words process, my arms wrapping around his neck. I gently play with the hair at the base of his head; it’s just barely long enough for me to run my fingers through.
“You sure?”
I nod in response, keeping my body tightly pressed against his. I need his closeness right now. I need to be able to feel all of him, to keep him close, to know I’msafe.
Safe isn’t ever something I’ve ever felt, not truly. Not until him. Not until he let me in and gave me a place to call my own. He’s a man of few words, but those words are all the difference. He’s everything I’ve always wanted, while also being somethingI never knew I could have. Girls like me don’t usually get to keep the guys like him.
“Hey, what’s going on in your head?” he whispers, one of his thumbs coming up and wiping away the tears that I didn’t even realize had started to fall.
“You are incredible. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank whatever God is out there that I get to hold you, even if it’s just for a little while,” I whisper, burying my face into his neck and hugging him tight.
“You were you, that’s all I ever needed,” he whispers, his lips brushing the top of my head.
I don’t know what’s making me emotional, but everything is just too much. All I can do is sit in his lap, hold onto him, and hope that this never ends.
After several minutes, I pull away. When I do, he’s watching me, his hands cup my face, wordlessly wiping the remaining tears away.
“Food?” he asks, and I nod, getting off his lap. I head back over to the couch, and he grabs our lunches from the mini fridge in the corner before joining me. He hands me my lunch box, I lean into his side, and he lets me rest there without asking any questions.
Today for lunch, he packed turkey and cheese sandwiches with tomatoes and lettuce. A side of hummus and pretzels. To drink, he got me a premade iced coffee, and for himself, a water.
I’m not normally a sourdough bread person, but the one that these sandwiches are made out of isn’t actually too bad.
“You wanna stay, or are you ready to go?” he asks, after we throw away the rest of our trash. I shake my head. I made him leave early yesterday; the last thing I want is for him to have to leave early again because of me.
“No, it’s ok, I’ll just watch another show, and maybe take a nap, since I’m a little tired.” I curl up into a small ball on my cushion.
