“Because of what?”
“Because when you touch me, it turns me on like nothing ever has in my life,” I say in a husky voice as I tug her close. “Yet for some crazy reason, I thought I could resist you.”
She laces her hands in my hair and whispers, “So silly.” She shakes her head in admonishment, now fully playing along with the tour.
“You think that’s silly, then wait ’til you hear what’s next. If I were to take you to the next spot, you’d realize the height of my ridiculousness.”
“I would?” she asks as I walk her to the car and the cool backseat.
“Yes. Because after I took you home that night, I returned to my house and took matters into my own hand. You rode me hard in my fantasies.”
Her eyes light up with the realization, and then her fingers tap dance across my leg. “That’s so hot. I want to watch someday.”
“Yeah, I want to watch you do that, too.” I curl a hand around her head, bring my lips to her ear, and whisper, “Three times that night. And somehow, I thought I could get you out of my system that way.”
“Oh, Spencer,” she whispers. “I thought the same thing, too.”
Our lips crash together as the driver pulls away. We kiss hungrily, erasing the hours apart, the lies, the pretending. We kiss until our lips are bruised. We kiss until we reach the next destination. The corner of Forty-third. It’s six-forty-five now, and theater traffic has begun, so we don’t stop the vehicle.
I point through the tinted windows. “Strangest thing happened on that corner.”
“What was so strange?” she asks, her happy tone telling me she wants the answers as much as I love giving them.
“I wasn’t a complete idiot that night. I made sure to tell you the full truth—that I was jealous of anyone else who’d ever had you. Which was really my way of saying I don’t want anyone else to have you,” I say, then brush my lips against the hollow of her throat. “Ever.”
“I feel the same,” she says, her smile like sunshine as she grabs her phone again, this time showing me the messages she sent right after she left this morning. “Look. Just look.”
About that horrid lie.
It hurt so much to say that.
I didn’t mean it.
It feels so real to me.
Do you feel it too?
I look up from the screen and press my hand to her chest, over her heart. It thunders under my hand. “Yes, Snuffalaffugus. I feel it everywhere.”
She giggles when I use our term of endearment. “Me, too. But before we fully explore everywhere, I really want you to read the rest of these,” she says, as she peels my hand off her chest and presses her phone into my palm.
Oh great. I just realized I’m sending all these text messages to myself. BECAUSE YOUR PHONE IS LIGHTING UP MY PURSE!
Okay. So yeah. This sucks.
You’ve got to know I only said that on the field to try to help. I was trying to stick to the plan. To make it all believable. I HAVE NO IDEA IF IT WORKED.
Ugh. I feel awful now. I messed things up even worse, didn’t I?
I’m talking to myself. But look what I found…
Seems I have your keys and wallet, too. Hmm. You have a lot of credit cards.
I’ve been meaning to get a new Kate Spade.
And some Louboutins.
WHERE ARE YOU? DON’T YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE?
I’m not relinquishing this phone unless you feel the same way. I swear if I see you and it turns out this is a one-way street, you will never get this phone back. It will die a fast, painless death by the hammer of my embarrassment.
So if you’re reading these messages, it must mean only one thing.
You’re crazy for me, too.
“I’m so crazy for you, too,” I say, and our lips come together again.
Before the moment can turn heated, before she can climb on top of me like I want her to, we somehow make it to Central Park and the baseball field. The car idles on the path, waiting for us as I walk her to the grass.
Another game is underway—a pizzeria is batting against a shoe store chain. I pull Charlotte close to me. “But this,” I say, pointing to the ground, “this is where I was a huge dumbass.”
She grins. “Why’s that?”
“Because right here, earlier today…” I take a breath, letting it fuel me to finally share my whole heart. “This is where the woman I love went to bat for me.” She gasps when I use the L word. “I should have told you then that I love you. I should have said everything to you.” Inching closer, I press my forehead to hers. “I should have told you I’m madly in love with you, and I want you to be mine. When you told me it wasn’t real, I was devastated—”