Page 90 of Always Knew It Was You

Yes, that’s actually how he phrases it because the anal man can’t simply text someone, “Hey, come over and let’s talk.” Or even just call. I mean he knows I’m better with phone calls than texting, so a call would be the best way to reach me. But he probably thinks calling would indicate some kind of friendship between us and God forbid he ever admit such a thing.

I smirk as I reread the message, shaking my head. After all that time we’ve spent together and all we’ve been through including him literally bleeding on me, Declan doesn’t seem ready to accept our friendship yet.

Oh well. I’m not in a hurry. I’ll wear him down eventually.

After replying to his text with a cheery “okey dokey,” I turn over to watch Carly, still fast asleep in bed. Her hair is all mussed around her face and her mouth is slightly open, a trail of drool streaking her cheek. She didn’t wipe her mascara off yesterday and it leaked down her eyes, giving her the look of a goth chick going through a bad breakup. One hand is thrown over half her face, and the other clutches the blanket, as though someone’s going to steal it from her. As if she’s not the worst blanket hog in the entire world.

I shake my head, feeling a smile slowly spread my lips.

She’s a mess. A vibrant, crazy, gorgeous mess.

I keep watching her for even more seconds, reaching over to draw her hair back over so I can take in even more of her features. I can’t believe what she told me yesterday about her being jealous of Tate Moon. I mean I guess I can believe it since I saw the way her mood changed when I talked to Tate, but I can’t believe that (A) she would think that I would flirt with another woman in front of her (elderly nurses don’t count), and (B) she actually thought Tate was better than her.

How on earth does Carly not see how gorgeous and amazing she is?

Who did such a number on her that she can’t even see her own worth?

Moreover, I thought I made it clear how crazy I am about her, and how hard it is to even notice anyone else when she’s around. It’s something I’ve pondered and tried to wrap my head around, but I can’t, so I’ve simply just accepted that she’s captivated me. And yeah, Tate is pretty, I suppose, and her mother is fascinatingly terrifying, but none of them have held my interest even half as much as Carly does. None of them form distinct images that pop up in my head often, of her eyes sparking with ire, or when her lips get that sarcastic quirk to them. Or when she says something witty or rolls her eyes at one of my antics.

I don’t know how to describe the feeling Carly gives me. It’s not just the lust, and I don’t just like her. I feel... more myself when I’m with her. She’s comfortable, like a warm blanket by the fireplace. Like I can relax and not worry about being the Micah Landing everyone else expects me to be.

I don’t have to be the replacement for my brother like my dad expects.

Or a true blueblood like my grandfather wants.

Or the good Christian child my mother always wanted.

And I don’t have to be the life of the party either. Most of my friends expect that side of me, and while it’s fun sometimes, it’s exhausting.

But with her, I can just be Micah. Last night proved it. When we opened up to each other, baring our vulnerability, I somehow didn’t feel the need to hold back. I wanted her to see all of me, even the childish parts of me that made me feel small. And I think she wanted the same in reverse. There was nothing she could have said last night that would have made me see her as any less. And maybe she felt the same way about me.

I don’t know. But I didn’t want the night to end.

And I hope this fling lasts for a good while, because I’d like to explore this “fun” for as long as possible. Of course, until I inevitably get bored of it, at which point we’ll go our separate ways, no harm no foul.

I see her eyes squeeze shut, and her eyebrows furrow, as though preternaturally detecting that she’s being watched.

I take advantage of that to lay a soft kiss on her lips. “Rise and shine sleeping beauty.”

“Ugh…” she groans, one eye opening and squinting up at me. “Oh, I hate you. You look so nice and put together when you wake up and I look like the witch who gave snow white the apple.”

I chuckle. “Well, technically that witch was also a beautiful queen so… I guess I see the resemblance.”

“Are you trying to butter me up by saying I look both like a witch and like a queen?”

“The dichotomy of woman.”

She levels a weak punch at my arm and I laugh as I catch her fist, once again pressing it against my lips.

“What are you up to today?” I ask her.

“School.” She stretches as she replies. “I have to be there at nine a.m. Speaking of which, what time is it?”

I check the clock on the other side of the bed. “Eight-thirty.”

She freezes, then instantly bolts up in bed. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” And she confirms for herself when her eyes meet the hands of the clock. That sends her careening over as she tumbles out of bed to grab her jeans.

---