Page 14 of When Stars Collide
“Right. Because I couldn’t have possibly landed the position based on my own merits?” I countered, more irritated by Jo’s assertion than I should have been.
“Of course not. That’s not what I’m saying at all. Just maybe the reason why his reaction to what happened was so muted is because he kind of digs you, is all.”
“He didn’t even see the photos. It was a no harm, no foul kind of deal.” I leaned back into the couch cushion. A nagging thought that had implanted itself inside of my mind the moment I deleted my text from Phineas’s phone came roaring back like an errant grass fire. “Of course,” I began, my brain quickly stopping my mouth from vocalizing the thought any further.
“Of course, what?”
“Nothing. A thought that left as soon as it arrived.”
“Isn’t that called dementia?”
“No, it’s called it’s getting late, and I should probably fill Peter in on the events of the day.” I yawned as I stood up from the couch, throwing a salute in Jo’s direction.
“Just do me a favor and refrain from waking me up with a blood-curdling scream tomorrow morning, will ya?”
“I make no promises.”
On my way to my room, the pervasive thought holding my brain hostage flashed through my head again as though my going to bed had given it some sort of unspoken permission to force me think about it—to really analyze it in ways that would keep me awake for longer than I wanted to be.
Phineas hadn’t been exaggerating. He really had received an abundance of text messages, none of which had been opened. Except for one.
CHAPTER THREE
I saw him before he saw me. Propped against a column next to the baggage claim, Peter intently scanned the crowd, looking for me. It wasn’t often I was grateful for being short, but as I watched his face searching for me in anticipation, I was happy that my stature allowed me to remain undetected, so that I could see how his face looked when he saw me for the first time in three weeks.
As I drew nearer, I felt compelled to hurl myself at him, jump into his arms, and wrap my legs around his waist, just like every chick in every episode ofThe Bachelorever made always did. That idea, though, was promptly extinguished when I mentally calculated the distance between his waist and the ground, concluding that I would never be able to get sufficient air and would probably end up straddling his thighs, instead.
Reluctantly, I managed to contain myself and even made my way to the opposite side of the column undetected, leaning my body against it in the same fashion he was.
“Excuse me, sir. Have you seen my incredibly sexy boyfriend, by chance?”
From out of the corner of my eye, I caught just the hint of a smile from him. “Incredibly sexy, huh? Could you describe him for me?”
“Well, he’s tall … like freakishly big. We’re talking Paul Bunyan lumberjack huge. You would think he’d be, I don’t know, a basketball player, but he can't even walk across the room without tripping over himself. The man’s basically all legs and feet. And then there’s that hair—dark and disheveled, like he woke up and said, ‘Screw it, the world is gonna get the hair I give to it.’”
“He certainly sounds dreamy,”he scoffed. “A giant, clumsy, big-footed, unkempt, lumberjack Sasquatch. You’re right. What woman wouldn’t want that?”
“Right? And then there’s his eyes.”
“The kind that haunt your nightmares?”
“The kind you hope to see in your dreams.” I met him on the other side of the column, watching him watching me. “They’re the kind that stare so deeply into yours, you swear they can see directly into your soul. The kind that see you for who you really are, yet they love you regardless.”
Peter caressed my cheek with the back of his hand, his fingers becoming entangled in my hair as he leaned down to kiss me lightly on the forehead. “I’ve missed you.”
“God how I’ve missed you, too.”
“So much so that you’re sending nudes to your boss?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around my body in a tight embrace, meant both as a hug and as an assurance that I wouldn’t be able to free my arms to punch him in the face.
“One more wisecrack out of you and I may very well board the next flight back to New York.”
“I’ve got it all out of my system now.”
“Good.” I adjusted the straps of my carry-on bag and slung it back over my shoulder. One good thing about our short weekends together was that I never needed to carry more than my small canvas bag that contained only the essentials.
Peter’s fingers searched for mine, finding them and then fusing our hands together. “Although, I must ask—”
“Yes, I am wearing the same bra and underwear I was wearing in the infamous photos.”
