Rosie: Yep.
Lucas: Well, you’re lucky I’m an excellent entertainer and great company.
Lucas: Most of the time.
Rosie: I know.
Rosie: All of the time. Even when you’re a grouch.
A picture appeared on my screen. It was a selfie, and he was frowning. Pouting.
Lucas: a grouch like this?
Lucas: I still think I look handsome. Sexy, even.
He did. He always did.
Another message came in.
Lucas: would you entertain me, too?
Lucas: send me a pic.
Lucas: for the sake of my separation anxiety.
Lucas: I’m scared I’ll forget your face.
Rosie: are you… flirting with me, Lucas Martín?
Lucas: is it working?
With a nervous snicker, I snapped a selfie and sent it.
Lucas: is that… the floor? Why are you laying at the foot of the bed?
Oops. My Lucas-hazed brain hadn’t thought of that.
Another photo of him popped up on my screen. It was taken from a longer distance, as if he’d stretched his arm to snap the shot so I could see that he was lying in bed. On top of the covers. Shirtless. His glorious, glorious chest on display, his tattoo peeking out of a corner of the screen.
Lucas: This is how beds are meant to be used, Ro. You lay on top of them.
Rosie: thank you for the lesson, professor.
Lucas: What can I say? I’m well versed in the many uses of beds.
Rosie: Oh?
Oh?
Really, Rosie? Oh?
I could have done much, much better. Much sexier. But my brain was… scattered.
Lucas: don’t sound so surprised.
I waited, thinking of how to answer. But he beat me.
Lucas: have you forgotten this morning? Because I haven’t.
Lucas: it’s all I’ve thought about.
Lucas: well, not all. I’ve thought about that shower too. About you coming so sweetly.
I stared at that word on my screen, a heated sensation pooling low and gathering between my legs. I just didn’t know what to say to that.
My brain scrambled for a good answer, for something, anything, I could say. This was good, it was just sexting. And I was a romance writer, I’d written sex scenes. I could be sexy. I could be daring. I could sext.
But nothing came to mind. Nothing. Only flashes of that morning, of us in bed, under the covers. Of that shower and Lucas naked, coming on my stomach. Which had been the hottest, most erotic sexual experience of my life and I—
I might have spent a long time thinking because Lucas texted again.
Lucas: Rosie?
Rosie: Still here.
Lucas: Sorry. I’m an idiot. I wasn’t trying to have phone sex or text sex with you, I promise.
Rosie: You weren’t?
Lucas: No.
Well, that was disappointing. I would have been all in for any of those two options; I just needed… a little more time.
Lucas: I was texting you because I miss you like crazy. The apartment is too quiet. Too empty. Even with Taco here. Nothing feels right. I want you back.
My chest swelled to the point of hurting.
I want you back.
That was exactly how I felt in my own home. That was how much he’d ruined me. Could it be possible that we were feeling the exact same way?
Rosie: I miss you, too.
And then, because I clearly had no self-preservation instinct when it came to this man, I sent him the words I wanted him to hear. The truth that I wanted him to see, that I wanted to scream at him until my voice grew raw.
Rosie: I want you back too, Lucas. I wish you were here with me. In my bed.
Lucas:…
Lucas: I wish you hadn’t told me that.
Rosie: Why?
The three points danced on the screen of my phone for a few seconds, and then disappeared.
Remaining very, very still, I waited for a minute.
Then, two. Three, five, ten, fifteen.
Thirty minutes.
Lucas didn’t answer.
Maybe he’d… fallen asleep.
Or maybe he’d gotten hungry and decided to grab a snack. Knowing him, that involved something more sophisticated than opening a bag of cereal and a carton of milk even at one in the morning.
Or maybe…
“Jesus Christ,” I said into the empty room. “Listen to yourself, Rosie.”
I cursed, realizing that not only was I being ridiculous, but I was also on my feet, pacing in front of my bed, and about to give myself a headache.
The intercom downstairs blared through the apartment, startling me and making me drop the phone on the floor. The screen lit up at my feet.
Lucas: It’s me.
I left the phone there, not caring about anything but the door.
Because… he was here.
I ran to the entrance and when I buzzed him in and threw my door open, my panting had nothing to do with my sprint.