Page 67 of Infatuated as They Come
“Of course I’ll come watch.” I gave her a soft kiss. “That’s great news, sweetheart. But now you need to get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll wait up.”
“No. Sleep. I need you to sleep for me, okay?”
“I’ll wait for you,” she said.
But she sounded so tired that I had a feeling that she’d be falling asleepin a few minutes flat. I pulled the blankets up to her chin, watching as her brown eyes fluttered shut. She looked all pretty and peaceful lying there and I felt a sea of regret hit me as I took in what I was missing. What else was I supposed to do, though? I was just trying to be everything she needed, everything she deserved,and there was no future with a poor man. I held back a wince.
Holly wanted the fairytale. I knew that. I couldn’t give her the castle and the horse drawn carriage, but I could still give her the happiest ending I could help put together for her. I could still be the man who took care of her, who sheltered her from pain, who made sure she had a roof over her head—even if it was small.
I could be that man. I could be and I would be and I had to be, because I was determined to make sure history didn’t repeat itself.
Chapter 14
Holly
I was staring at the clock like it was the most entertaining thing in the apartment. It was close to ten and my body was begging me to go to bed already. The day had been a long one and had started off with a trip to the doctor, because Sawyer had been absolutely right about me getting a little stupid during sex. I blamed him for being so good at it.
My legs were throbbing from the intense cheer practice session I had in the morning and my eyes were strained from staring at my laptop and writing my new article for the paper, but it didn’t feel right going to bed without my boyfriend.
Coming home to an empty apartment had become routine over the past month. The place felt too cold and empty, like it didn’t feel right, like someone was missing—and he was. Sawyer was running late again, and like every other night the last four weeks, I had ended up eating dinner alone.
My eyes closed. I couldn’t and wouldn’t say anything. It had taken Sawyer so long to focus on his art, and now that he was finally doing it, I couldn’t burden him with my feelings, because I already knew what he’d do: he’d give up his weekends, his only time of the week that he had dedicated to himself and his art.
I fidgeted with the blanket that was wrapped around me tighter, hating how the thick, heavy wool wasn’t heating me up in the slightest. Sawyer had a special way of making me feel warmer than anything or anyone evercould. I missed him. I missed summer. I missed fighting with him at school every two seconds over the dumbest, most idiotic things. A smile tugged at my lips as I remembered how things used to be. Just the two of us sitting together was usually enough for one of us to lose it at the other, and so much had changed since then, but all I could think about was the fact that the conversations we had when we were at each other’s throats were longer than the ones we had been having lately.
I had no right to feel lonely. Not when my boyfriend was out there on his feet all day with strained muscles from top to bottom. But wasn’t I allowed to miss the way things were before? Even when Sawyer was busy over the summer with his art projects, we were still able to spend time together. There were days where I’d be at his place when he worked on his paintings, just lying on his bed while I watched him work, his sleeves pushed up and his hands streaked with paint and his eyes narrowed in concentration. Then we’d head out somewhere and go for some long relaxing drive and sit out in the hot sun, or he’d take me to some place around Dallas I had never been before, or we’d just lie in his bed and kiss all afternoon long, his lips all soft but his hands wonderfully firm as he touched my waist and hips and hands. I missed that.
My eyes closed as I got lost in the memories of summer, of him, of how happy I was to just be with him no matter the place, no matter the time. It was a blur of memories. Of kisses and dates. Of heat and his voice. Of his touch and late nights where he was supposed to be anywhere but in my bedroom, his lips right by my ear as he muttered out the filthiest of words as he made me all his, one of his hands pressed to my mouth to keep my whines muffled.
I thought I was imagining something soft and gentle stroking at my face, the touch almost featherlight, but then I felt something else slide under my body and I realized they were hands. Sawyer’s hands. I was in bed a moment later, just barely able to open my eyes as he pulled the blankets over me.
“It’s so late,” I said, voice laced with sleep, and I couldn’t fight off my yawn.
“I know.” He kissed one of my cheeks. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”
“What happened?”
“Long shift.”
“You left so early.”
“I know,” he said with a sigh.
“And now it’s so late.”
“I know,” he said again.
“You’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Come sleep. I miss sleeping next to you.”
“Aw, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I miss that too. Miss those grabby little hands. You can’t seem to keep ‘em to yourself.”
“I’m not grabby,” I said with a smile.
“You are. I don’t mind, though. I meant it when I said that you can do whatever you want to me when I’m asleep.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Will you come to bed now please?”
