Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
As much as I don’t want to wait that long, the idea of spending the whole weekend with him again fills me with hopeful anticipation.
“Yes. Please,” I answer in a rush, already counting down how many hours I need to wait until then.
“God, how the hell am I supposed to go back to the station when all I’m going to think about all day is you in my arms and those cute as fuck clothes on my floor?” Aidan groans, his voice quiet but no less powerful for it.
I shiver, feeling lightheaded at the knowledge that he’s imagining the same thing I am. The obsession is mutual, and I don’t care how insane it seems to be so attached to him so fast.
“Shit,” I murmur as the front doors open behind him, and someone steps inside the lobby, heading our way. Time to stop fantasizing and do my job, I guess. I barely manage to find enough control of the sad pout that wants to form on my lips. “Friday?” I ask Aidan to confirm, clutching the edge of my desk as the pure heat in his gaze threatens to turn my legs to jelly with desire.
“Friday,” he says back, lacing the word with dark promise.
I stare after him like the drooling, needy animal he’s turned me into, and he steps away, letting the woman waiting to speak to me take his space in front of my desk. I clear my throat, forcing my gaze away from Aidan and plastering what I hope is a convincing look of professionalism onto my face.
“Good morning,” I chirp at the woman. “What can I help you with?”
She tells me who she’s here for, and I call up to the offices to confirm before directing her where to go. The second she’s out of sight, I exhale heavily and flop down onto my chair. I drink my coffee and think of nothing but the man who brought me it for the rest of the morning.
The week passes in a long, slow, torturous amount of hours spent longing for Friday night. Aidan drops off coffee for me on Tuesday and Thursday, but the minutes of conversation I grab with him as he brings me the pick-me-up aren’t nearly enough to satiate my need for him. The daydreams and fantasies about him are punctuated with a few more texts from that same unknown number, which never fail to pop my Aidan bubble.
It’s getting harder and harder to convince myself that the person on the other end of the phone just has the wrong number. Now, after the latest text has popped up on my phone, I scroll back to the start of the short message thread. After the second text—one where the nameless person compliments my new jacket—I replied telling them they had the wrong number. They ignored that, sending another compliment the next day and another just seconds ago.
I shudder, slamming my phone down on my desk and looking around me as though whoever it is will conveniently be strolling through the door to introduce themselves.
There’s no way someone would know about the color of my skirt or the new jacket I ordered or what heels I’m wearing just by…guessing. I know that, logically, but God I can’t bring myself to think about the fact that someone’s watching me.
Nope. Not going there. If I ignore it and don’t encourage or respond or acknowledge the existence of this mystery weirdo, they’ll stop. I’m only stressing myself out by thinking about it. Especially when there’s much, much nicer things to think about.
Like the fact that there’s only half an hour left until work is finished and I can go get ready for my dinner date and have Aidan all to myself for the whole weekend. I can’t contain my excitement, fidgeting in my chair as it buzzes through me. Like a kid counting down the days to Christmas, I watch the minutes tick by on the clock until, at exactly five pm, I shut down my computer and grab my stuff, rushing out the doors at record speed.
He’s picking me up at seven, which means I have two hours—less by the time I make it home—to shower, get dressed, and do my makeup. I want to look my best for him, want to show him just how much I’ve been looking forward to spending time with him again.
The walk to my apartment usually takes me fifteen minutes, but today, fuelled by excitement and giddiness and refusing to be slowed by my heels, I make it home in ten.
9
AUTUMN
After redoing my eyeliner for the tenth time—the damn wings just won’t match!—I finally get the wings to look somewhat related, if not like twins, and drop the makeup down onto the counter with a sigh.
Fluffing my hair out with my fingers, I take in my reflection. I’ve kept my makeup base light. Tinted moisturizer and some liquid highlighter to add a little sparkle, setting it with so much setting spray I choke on it. But…if tonight goes the way I’m desperate for it too, I don’t want my makeup melting off my face with sweat and exertion.