Page 88 of Come to Me
She takes another breath. "Or worse. That you'll change. You'll get tired of supporting my career, and start encouraging me to stay home, to not take gigs, to close myself off from the world again. And I'll do it, because it's easy and familiar. You'll start to work all the time, until it's the only thing you care about. And our weekends together will become you at the office and me on the couch, hugging my Kindle, wondering how we fucked things up this badly."
Shit. Our combined baggage is complimentary in the worst way.
"I'm afraid of the same things," I admit.
"We're far apart. We're both working too much. But those are just excuses..." She trails off, her voice getting lower and lower.
We're quiet for a moment, nothing in the room except the sound of our breaths.
I think this through, not dismissing what she said but working through it.
"How about I promise to try and keep you on level ground and you promise to try and keep me from turning into my father?" I offer.
"I... okay," she murmurs, some life returning to her voice.
"I'm taking a week off at the end of next month. I'm going to spend it in New York with you."
"But I'll be working the whole time," she protests.
"What is that--three hours a day?"
She laughs, the release of tension so damn necessary.
"Shut up. Asshole."
"Is it more like four hours?"
"I got the point." She laughs, again, the anxiety melting from her voice. "I will be free most of the morning and day to hang out with you."
My muscles relax as I exhale. This is going to be okay.
"I'll stay out of your hair when you're working," I promise. "But, when you're not, you're mine. I'm going to make your days so fucking great you won't be able to stand it."
"What kind of things will you do?" Her voice is soft.
Sultry.
My body wakes up again. I never did make it all the way out of my clothes. "Maybe I can give you a preview."
"Do you, um." She lets out a nervous laugh. "Do you want to try Skype again?"
Chapter Nineteen
Alyssa
"That could be arranged."
Luke's voice is playful, but there's a heaviness to it. Exhaustion maybe. He's not great at hiding his impatience over my inability to feel ready, whatever that means.
There's not a good way to phrase it, to say, don't fucking do this just because you think it's the only thing I want from you. There's not a good way to tell your boyfriend, fiancé actually, that you suspect he is only giving into your requests for sex to placate you.
I rub at my eyes. I hate being in my head at a time like this, when the only thing coursing through my brain should be how much I want to get Luke's clothes off.
Sure, he's not really here. The best I can hope for is his voice in my ears and his body on my computer monitor.
"Ally?"
"Sorry. I was just thinking..." About how fucking crushed I'll be if we don't last.
