Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“Yes, yes I am,” she says breathily. “Um, let me just... just give me a minute.”
I eat the curvy girl up with my eyes. I’ve seen Morgan at ease on the beach, felt her body underneath mine, and shared intimate, personal moments. But something about watching her in her own world—the real world for her—is even more profound.
She shuts down her computer, grabs her bag, and tilts her head as she looks at me.
“Do you want to come back to my place?” she asks, her eyes searching mine. Her words make hope leap in my chest even as I try not to show it.
“Yeah,” I agree easily. “Sounds like a plan.”
I resist the urge to grab her hand and instead manage to keep several inches between us as I follow her light steps to the elevator. Soon we’re downstairs and step together out of the building. A biting wind hits our cheeks as Morgan pulls her coat closer around her body.
“This is chillier than Mirago,” I say off-hand. “But I kind of like it.”
Morgan smiles tentatively. “We can take the train, but a cab would be faster. More expensive, but faster.”
“Let’s take a cab.” I’m eager to find some privacy, and to finally get away from the watchful eyes of a nonstop stream of people too.
We climb into one of the yellow cars and are soon fighting our way through traffic toward Morgan’s apartment. While we ride, neither of us says anything, saving our words for when we can be completely alone.
Twenty minutes later, we climb the stairs up to her third story apartment.
“Um,” Morgan says suddenly, her key in the lock. “It might be a bit messy because I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
I raise a black eyebrow. “I’m hardly just anyone,” I point out.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” She opens the door and I follow her inside, eager to have another piece of her life revealed to me.
The apartment is small and simple but at the same time, it’s cozy and full of color. I glance from the funky wall art to fun pillows to a tidy kitchen. The only items that seem out of place are the various boxes of tissues scattered around the living room and kitchen. I see another door next to the bath, which much lead to the bedroom.
“I guess it’s not too out of control,” Morgan says lightly, scooping up an abandoned sweater and wiping invisible crumbs from the coffee table. “Could be worse.”
“Morgan,” I take a deliberate step toward her. “Can we talk? Forget trying to clean the apartment. It looks great.”
She drops the sweater back onto the couch and sits down suddenly, almost as though she has lost her strength.
“Why the hell are you here, Brax?” she demands abruptly.
I grimace as I join her on the couch. She turns so that we’re facing each other. But still, she won’t touch me, and I feel like she’s scrupulous about it, like I’m radioactive and dangerous.
I know without a doubt that I’ve hurt Morgan, and that there’s a chance she won’t forgive me for letting her go.
Still, I have to try.
“I came to New York for you,” I tell her directly. “The job is just window dressing. I’m here for you, sweetheart.”
Morgan looks wary. “Why? What changed your mind?”
“A lot of things,” I say with a low chuckle. But then I grow serious. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Morgan,” I explain quietly. “About us. And what an ass I was for using you and then just letting you go like that.”
“You didn’t use me,” she says quietly.
“No, maybe not, but I realize that what we did, how we were with each other… I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. Especially when I refused to even have a conversation about visiting or at least keeping in touch.”
Morgan looks at her hands. “I don’t even have a picture of you, Brax,” she whispers. “It’s like you never existed.”
I frown. “What do you mean?” I ask gently, daring to scoot a little closer to her.
She continues to look at her hands, but I notice a fat tear as it falls down her cheek.
“Ever since I left Mirago, I’ve been thinking about what it’d be like when I’m eighty years old and trying desperately to remember what you look like and how horrible it’ll be when I can’t picture you. I won’t be able to see your face in my head.”
I wince, my guilt multiplying with every word the poor woman says.
Morgan looks up at me, the tears flowing freely now. “What do you want, Brax?” she sobs. “Because I can’t do this.”
I stop thinking and just act: I pull Morgan into my arms and silently vow to never let her go.
“I want you,” I tell her, my voice thick with emotion. I stroke her hair as she cries against my shoulder. “I never want to be the reason you cry, or the reason you hurt. I want to be the reason you wake up every day feeling happy, loved, and cherished.”