Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Things have been good between us. He’s been staying with me for over a month now and he’s kept to his promise about sleeping in the spare room, now that we have a bed in there. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t take any and all opportunities to touch me. When we’re making dinner, which we seem to do together more often than not, he finds subtle ways when we’re sitting on the couch after dinner, rubbing my feet or playing with my hair, while I rest with my head in his lap. If there is a way, Cooper has found it.
Most nights, I rush to my room to keep from begging him to sleep with me. Our night in the hotel room constantly plays on my mind. It was explosive and intense. I can’t help but wonder if that’s us… how we will always be, or if it was the tension and the fear taking hold of us. I admit I’ve been tempted to find out, but I’m holding strong.
Last weekend when he came to the home and spent the day with me and the kids, his support meant everything to me. I admit I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing’s happening. Cooper has proven to be certain in his feelings for me, and I him. I’ve always known I was in love with him. The issue is finding the courage to speak those words aloud. To finally give voice to what my heart has always known.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking into my apartment, and something smells delicious. “Coop, I don’t know what that is, but I’m about to eat all of it,” I say, tossing my keys on the small entry table and letting my purse fall to the floor. Kicking off my heels, I go in search of my roommate.
“In here!” he calls out from the kitchen.
“What smells so good?”
“Tuna noodle casserole.” He grins.
“Since when do you know how to make tuna noodle casserole?” I ask.
“Since today. I know you love my mom’s, so I called her for the ingredients. We FaceTimed while I put it all together.”
I don’t really know what to say to that. His actions don’t scream “I can’t wait to run away from you.” They tell another story. One that tells me he’s in this with me this time. He’s all in, and after the day I had today, the emotions of that conclusion are almost too much to bear. I can’t speak, so instead, I walk to him and wrap my arms around his waist, burying my face in his chest.
He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. We stand here in the middle of my kitchen, holding onto one another as if it’s our last time. “Thank you,” I finally whisper.
“For what?”
“Taking care of me.”
He pulls back, places his index finger under my chin, and gently tilts so we’re looking at one another. “Never thank me for taking care of you, Reese. You’re the love of my life. I’m always going to be here. Good days, bad days, and all the days in between.”
“I—” I start, then stop myself. I almost let those three little words slip. “I need to go change. I’ll be right back.”
“Wine?” he asks.
“Beer,” I call over my shoulder, heading to my room. I hear him chuckle and say, “That’s my girl,” or something similar before I disappear into my room.
Opting for comfort, I put on one of his old T-shirts from college that I stole years ago. I throw my hair up and wash all the makeup off my face. I don’t plan on going out for the rest of the night.
“Let’s eat,” I say, walking into the kitchen.
Cooper, who has his back to me, turns and his eyes scan my body. “Babe, you should go put some clothes on.”
“Why? It’s just us, and it’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”
“That’s why.” He swallows hard. “I promised I would keep my hands to myself.”
“It’s just an old T-shirt.” I look down. “It comes to my knees. Nothing remotely sexy about this.”
“Turn around,” he says gruffly. I do as he asks. “Fuck,” he mutters.
“What?”
“I was making sure I remembered the shirt, and I was right. It has my name on it.”
“Yeah, this is the CU shirt you got freshman year.” I still don’t see what the big deal is. “I stole it, but you knew that already,” I remind him.
“I don’t know if I can explain it without it making me sound like a possessive jackass.”
“Try me.” Part of me wants him to be a possessive jackass. I’ve waited my entire life to evoke these kinds of feelings in him.
He sets both plates that he fixed for us on the counter and stalks toward me. He doesn’t stop until he reaches me and lifts me from my feet, setting me on the opposite side of the counter in my small kitchen. I brace my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as he steps between my legs.