Page 16 of Secrets in Love
“You have something you want to tell me, darling, don’t you?”
The juiciest of juicy news sat on the tip of my tongue, just busting to see the light of day. The thing was, though sharing was caring, it wasn’t my scene.
Shrugging, I left without a word, resumed my vacuuming, then when complete, started packing. With an almost sick sense of timing, Nate messaged me as I was folding my underwear.
Nate: What ya doing, Lil Gidge?
Me: What am I doing? It’s after midnight there. What are you doing?
Nate: Can’t sleep. Entertain me.
Me: Alright. If you must know, Jocie, Iris, and I are going to Tarrytown for the weekend, and I am currently folding and packing my underwear.
Nate: See, I told you I had Spidey senses. Take a photo. Show me what you’re working with.
After a quick Google search, I sent him a pic of Bridget Jones holding up her granny pants.
Nate: HOT. I fucking knew it. Now send me a pic of you in them.
Me: I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You. Are. Disgusting. Goodnight.
Me: So, do you have a reason for this midnight message or not?
Nate: Ha ha. Knew you couldn’t stay away. Not. Kinda missed you, to be honest. Lots of things going on. Feel stressed, and for some reason, your grumpiness has an uncanny ability to make me feel calmer.
I clutched my phone to my heart, caught my reflection in the mirror, and stopped.
Me: Shit, Nate. I’m sorry, but I have to go get Iris and then leave for the country. We’re taking Jocie’s town car, though, so I will message you when I can.
My finger hovered oversend. I wanted to tell him that I missed him too and that he could make me feel calm yet also incredibly un-calm. That for the last almost two weeks, I thought very little about him, even went out for coffee with another man.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I hitsend, grabbed my bag, and walked down the stairs.
Damn you, Nathaniel.
Me: I miss you too.
Nate
Evie: I miss you too.
It was entirely possible that from sun-up, I read that and the several other messages that followed a hundred times. Nothing other than absorbing those words was achieved all day.
Evie: I miss you too
Evie missed me.
Evie. Austen. Missed. Me.
Yet, there I was, standing in front of my bathroom mirror, dressing for a date with another woman. Polly.
She’d also messaged me quite a few times, but none hit me directly in the heart like Evie’s did. No, Polly’s were aimed at another body part that required a lot of blood to function. If you’re not good at reading between the lines, I mean my cock. The same one Polly apparently couldn’t wait to get her lips around.
Yeah. Those kinds of messages.
The funny thing was the overtly sexual nature of Polly—something that should have been appealing to a guy like me—did nothing but terrify me. It was Evie’s witty banter and innocent confessions that had me all kinds of messed up.
