Page 22 of Red Snow
“Marcus, can you shut the fuck up, please,” I answer, but Marcus just keeps on laughing, rubbing salt in my wound. “Just hurry up so we can update Danielle and I can go home. This day has been too long.”
After finally coming down off his laughter, Marcus finally speaks again. “I’ll update Danielle. You go ahead and go home. I know you’re going to need time to prepare for seeing Stacey.”
“You sure? Danielle might be pissed about that.”
“She’ll be fine. I got it. Just make sure you fill me in on what happens with you and Stacey when you come in in the morning.”
It doesn’t take long for us to make it back to HQ, and Marcus even plays chauffer and drops me off at my car so I don’t have to go inside. After another joke about my nerves, my partner and I part ways for the night.
On the way home, I can’t help but be nervous. Without Marcus around to have to hide it from, my anxiety peaks. The relationship I had with Stacey was something out of a romantic comedy. We had so much fun together. And the sex, holy fuck! Stacey was everything, and our time together was great, something I’ll never forget.
Once, Stacey and I took a week long cruise and saw the Gulf of Alaska together. For seven straight days we floated on a cruise ship from Whittier to Vancouver, doing nothing but drinking, laughing, and fucking. We saw tons of sea life while being surrounded by glaciers and mountains. It was pure ecstasy, and in that moment, I knew she was my dream girl. It’s a shame work had to get in the way.
When she broke it off, I knew in my heart that she didn’t really want to. She cried while speaking and could barely keep eye contact with me. She said it was because I was always so busy with my job, and she was just starting to ramp up her college so she could become a nurse.
When her father died from pancreatic cancer, she developed a desire to help sick people, and I knew there was no stopping her once she put her mind to it, so her schooling was just going to force us to spend more time apart. She didn’t think it could work, and I didn’t put up a fight. I didn’t realize I should’ve until it was too late. We promised to end things on good terms, and after a few breakup-sex sessions, we started drifting apart. Until I texted her, that is.
Here I am now running up the stairs to get to my apartment because Stacey is coming. I can hardly believe it, and my mind doesn’t really know what to do with the fact that it’s real. I don’t have much time, but I refuse to look shitty in front of her, and I’m sure I do after such a long day. So I literally run into the house, drop my badge, guns, and cell phone on the coffee table, and dart into the bathroom, stripping off clothes as I go. I wash my tattooed body with Axe body wash and even check to make sure my hair is brushed and good to go when I get out. I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me, but something deep down won’t allow me to open the door and have her first impression of me be crap-tastic after all this time.
As I’m finishing up pulling the royal blue t-shirt over my head and cinching up the belt to my jeans, I hear a soft knock at the door, and I already know it’s her. I remember how small her hands are. It was something we use to joke about, so I know only her tiny hands could knock that softly but still be sexy.
Can somehow have a sexy door knock?
What the fuck, Jarrod?
I have to breathe deeply to steady myself when my hand hits the door knob, and when I open the door, I realize I didn’t take long enough to prepare myself for how she’d look.
Stacey Alexander stands in the doorway looking like the perfect combination of innocent angel and dirty devil. She looks up at me with her light brown eyes and my heart stops beating as I breathe her in. Her hair is bright red like she just got it dyed this morning and it hangs in flawless waves down her back, stopping midway. She’s wearing a light gray sweater over thick black leggings, and even in this snow, she’s wearing light gray heels. They’re not too high, but sexy as fuck nonetheless. Stacey is five-foot-two and exquisitely thick, so I can see all of her luscious curves through the sweater and leggings. She’s flawless in every way, but I don’t want her to know just how stunned I am by her presence, so I force myself to speak up.
“Hi,” I say, but it comes out in a higher pitch than I was aiming for and Stacey cracks a smile. When she smiles, it resuscitates my still heart.
“Hi, Mr. Jarrod,” she says, trying to pull the smile back, but it’s fighting to remain seen.
“Come on in.”
I move out of the way and let Stacey walk past me, of course admiring her ridiculous ass as she struts in. Once I close the door, I turn around and see her standing there next to the couch we’ve fucked on more times than I can count.
“It’s nice to see you,” she says, her voice low and beautiful.
What do I say? Do I tell her she looks fucking stunning or do I play it cool? “You too. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah. Six months, to be exact.”
“You’ve been counting?” I ask, testing the flirty waters.
“No,” she answer matter-of-factly.
“Ouch,” I joke, and she giggles. “Well, have a seat.”
She sits down on the couch and I think to sit in my favorite chair, but something in me yearns to be close to her, so I sit in the empty spot next to her. She props one leg up and turns her body to face me, making herself comfortable.
“So,” I begin nervously. “I’m curious what made you decide to come see me afternotcounting these past six months.”
She smiles again. “I haven’t been counting. And I wanted to see you because I was curious what made you decide to text me after six months.”
Crap. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the question. I let out a nervous chuckle and clear my throat.
I’ve always been brutally honest with every woman I’ve ever talked to, even when it hurts their feelings. But what is it about being honest with someone you care about? Why is it so hard to be real with them? Is it because we’re afraid we’ll offend them or scare them away with the truth? Are we worried that they’ll judge us and not love us anymore? Or is it that we’re just trying to spare them pain or heartbreak? Why is the truth so scary when you’re in love?
