Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Hey, baby girl, how was your day?” I greet her.
“Meh,” she says, and my protective instincts kick in.
“Emerson. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She sniffs. “Everything. It’s just been a shit kind of day.”
“Tell me everything.”
She sighs heavily, and I’m preparing myself to coax it out of her when she finally starts talking. “You know about the coffee. I bombed a big test, which sucks, but the entire class failed miserably, so we get to retake it. Then on the way home, I got a flat tire. Thankfully, one of the guys from class, Gabe, was behind me. He stopped to help me, not that I can’t do it on my own, but it’s raining, and I felt bad, so I stayed outside of the car to help him, and we both got drenched. I came home to shower and curl up in bed, and my blanket no longer smells like you, and I fucking miss you, Rome. I miss you so much that my chest physically aches, and I hate this. I hate being away from you, and today just fucking sucks.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had such a bad day. I miss you too, Em, so much.”
“I’m sorry I’m unloading on you. I know you’re going to get annoyed that your much-younger girlfriend, or whatever I am to you, can’t handle the pressure of being away from you and our adult—whatever this is, but a girl is only so strong, and everything piled up on me today, and then it’s your birthday this weekend, and I won’t be there to hug you or kiss you or wish you a happy birthday in person, and it just sucks.”
“It’s just another day, Emerson. How about when you’re home for Thanksgiving, we do something special to celebrate? We’ll pretend it’s my birthday?” I’m scrambling for anything and everything I can think of that will make her feel better.
“Yeah,” she says, but I can still hear the sadness in her voice.
“Don’t cry, baby. I hate that you’re upset and I’m not there.”
“I’ll be fine. Just hit me all at once and I wanted to hear your voice.” I hear rustling. “I have a study group in an hour. Can I call you after?”
“You better. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m sorry I dumped all of this on you.”
“That’s what I’m here for, baby girl. Let me carry some of this for you, and you’re mine. I don’t care what you label it or how you say it. What matters is that you’re mine, I’m yours, and we’ll get through this together. I hate that I’m not there, and I wish more than anything that I could hold you right now.”
She sniffles, and fuck, I thought my words would ease some of her worry and make her feel better. “I need to get ready. My hair is still wet, and I need to stop crying so my face isn’t all blotchy. If this study group wasn’t for the class of the test we all bombed, I’d skip it.”
“Call me when you get home. We’ll watch a movie together.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her I love her, but I won’t do that over the phone.
“Thanks, Rome. I’ll call you later.”
The call ends, but my racing heart is still thumping wildly in my chest. I hate that she’s so upset, and her age has nothing to do with missing me. I miss her too.
I finish drying off, then slip into a pair of gray sweats and a long-sleeve T-shirt. I pace back and forth in my room, worried about her. Lifting my phone, my thumb hovers over Monroe’s name, to text her and have her give me her own status report when an idea hits. I’m off work until Wednesday. The guys think I’m busy helping Dad. It’s three o’clock, and she’s three and a half hours away. I can be to her place by seven. Her study groups are always a couple of hours long.
Fuck it.
I grab some socks, slip my feet into a pair of tennis shoes, and lock up the house. I’m going to see my girl. It’s been too fucking long.
It’s six thirty when I pull up outside of her apartment. I even stopped for gas and to take a piss. My foot was heavy on the gas the entire way here, both from excitement and the need to be that person for her. The one to show up for her when she needs me.
Grabbing my keys, phone, and the bag of her favorite snacks I picked up at the gas station, I head inside. When I reach her apartment, I rap my knuckles against the door, and take a step back. My chest is tight, and my hands are clammy. I hope this is a good surprise. I’m well aware that just showing up at her place might not have been the best idea, but I have the time off tomorrow, and well, she needs me, and if I’m being honest. I need her too.