Page 113 of Under Her

Jesus, the sound of her voice…it’s like a blade to my chest.

“No. It’s me. Wilder.”

There’s silence behind the door, and for a moment, I think she isn’t going to let me in. Then, I hear the sound of a chain being removed and the door unlocking. The door opens to reveal Morgan.

It’s only been a few days since I last saw her, but it feels like it’s been an eternity.

Her face is clean of makeup. Her eyes are puffy, like she’s been crying—my fault.

Fuck, I’m an asshole.

Her hair is scraped back in a messy bun, and she’s wearing an old Northwestern sweater with black leggings.

And she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

How did I live my life the last nine years without her in it? Actually, scrap that. How the fuck did I meet her thirteen years ago and not make her mine the very instant I laid eyes on her?

I’m a fucking moron.

“What do you want?” she says, her voice cold.

“To talk.”

“If you’re here to yell at me again, then you can just turn around and leave.”

“I’m not here to yell. Just talk, I promise. Can I…come in?”

She hesitates, sizing me up with her eyes. Then, she steps back and moves aside, allowing me entry.

I step inside her apartment. As I pass her, the scent of her overwhelms me. So much so that I have to stop myself from grabbing her, wrapping my arms around her, burying my face in her hair, and begging for her forgiveness.

Somehow, I don’t think that would be welcomed.

I need to apologize first. Tell her how I feel about her. And then, after that, if she still hasn’t forgiven me, get to the begging part.

I follow Morgan into the living room.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks.

Even though I’ve been the world’s biggest jerk, she’s still polite enough to offer me a drink.

She’s fucking perfect.

And I’m an idiot.

“Water would be great, thanks.”

I take a seat on the sofa while I wait for her to come back.

She appears a few minutes later.

“Thanks,” I say when she hands me the water.

She sits in the chair across from me. I take a sip of water and then put it down on the coffee table.

I’m not really a guy who gets nervous. Right now, I’m nervous.

I lean forward, arms on my thighs, and I clasp my hands together as I look her in the face. “I’m sorry, Morgan,” I say. “So fucking sorry. For everything. For a couple of days ago. For accusing you of going to Coveted Lingerie and for the shitty things I said. I know you didn’t go to them and sell them the idea.”