I know it’s useless because he’s on a plane over the Atlantic, but I text him anyway.
I miss you.
I put the Batphone down, but it immediately vibrates on the couch next to me. Startled, I pick it up. Alec has replied.
God, I miss you, too.
A delighted laugh breaks free. Right. It had never occurred to me to text him earlier, that some people actually spring for the Wi-Fi on planes. I didn’t know you called me this weekend.
Yes, outside your apartment this morning I realized you had no idea that I’d been calling, and calling.…
Are you almost home?
Not really. Hours away still.
How’s the flight?
More importantly, how are you?
I’m better. I listened to your voicemail.
And? he asks.
My heart feels ten sizes too big for my body. A heart this big could pump an ocean of blood. AND I really wish I’d taken the Batphone to my parents’ place.
Well, I think you know I agree.
That last phone call really messed me up.
I know. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.
I close my eyes, fighting these omnipresent tears. Finally, I get them under control. I wish you hadn’t left this morning.
What do you wish I’d done instead? he replies.
I bite back my smile as I type. I wish I’d invited you in.
I told you if I came in, I wouldn’t want to leave.
If you came in now, I wouldn’t LET you leave.
I nearly jump out of my own skin when the doorbell rings barely two seconds after I’ve hit send. For a fraction of a second, I consider putting pants on but… awareness comes at me sideways, making me unsteady as I stand and walk to the door.
With a shaking hand, I pull it open to find Alec, clean-shaven, hair combed off his forehead, in a gray button-down shirt and dress pants and holding a wilted bouquet of flowers. “I’ve been carrying these around for a few hours,” he explains. “Sunny wouldn’t let me come over sooner, and you wouldn’t come out for dinner.”
I make a muffled sound of shock from behind the hand I’ve clapped over my mouth. He’s been here this whole time. Of course. Alec wouldn’t leave for London if Sunny was headed to LA. Sunny wouldn’t come to LA if Alec was headed to London.
And Yael would never leave either of them hanging like that.
Can you imagine if our planes actually crossed paths midair? He would never stop lecturing me.
“You were never on the plane!”
“I— Whoa,” he says, immediately distracted by my outfit. “What are you—”
I hurtle myself into his arms, knocking the flowers to the ground and making him take a few steadying steps backward to catch me. He’s here. I squeeze him so tight, eyes closed, sacrificing every wish I might get from here on out in gratitude for having him here on my doorstep.
His arms go all the way around me, holding me tight, and he lets out the quietest groan into my neck. He feels so good against me I can’t breathe. Everything inside seems to gather at the center of my chest and then explode outward in a pulse of relief and longing so that I feel my heartbeat as ten pulses in my fingers, ten pulses in my toes. He is solid and warm. He smells like soap and the soft citrus of his shaving cream. His laugh vibrates against my face where I’m pressed to his neck.
I never would have been able to get over him.
“Gigi,” he says, his voice a deep vibration, “look at me.”
I can’t. I press my lips to his neck, his jaw, and then kiss like a madwoman all over his face.
Alec laughs at the onslaught, carrying me inside like I’m a rag doll hanging from his shoulders, and shuts the door behind us. Reaching down, he adjusts his grip around my waist and lifts me up, carrying me to my bedroom.
Once there, he lets me slide down his body until my feet hit the floor, and then he bends, cupping my face and setting his lips on mine, kissing me with a passion that obliterates my ability to think about anything other than the feel of him. I make fists in his shirt, pulling him right up against me.
But Alec finds my hands, coaxing my fingers open. “Let me see you,” he says against my kiss, and then steps back.
He reaches out, adjusting the collar of his shirt on me, dragging his gaze down the length of my body and back up. Fire follows the path of his eyes and I feel it like sweet, tiny pinpricks all along my skin.
His neck flushes red.
“Do you blush like that when you come?” I ask, throwing his own teasing words back at him.
His laugh is a distracted, forceful exhale. I reach up, unbuttoning the shirt, watching the inky black of his pupils expand into the deep brown of his irises. The shirt falls to the floor and he reaches up, rubbing a finger over his bottom lip. “I like your underwear.”