“I’ll straighten up your room. You’re quite the slob.” It’s just the opposite. There’s not a single thing out of place. His books piled neatly on top of a cheap IKEA desk, while all his clothes hang in a small closet. On top of his dresser sits his watch and a bottle of cologne. Even his pocket change is stacked neatly. He’s a neat freak, and I love it. It’s definitely the room of a bachelor, but not wholly devoid of life. There’s a picture of his family on the nightstand. Covering myself with the sheet, I study the image and what must be the eighteen-year-old version of Lance on his graduation day, his smile sincere, carefree, a different version of Lance than the one I met. The man sliding on his sneakers is a far cry from the boy in the picture. When I get a glimpse of that boy here and there, I hang onto it. It’s the side I love the most. A side I’m sure only a few see. I’m one of the lucky ones. He’s let me in, and it both elates and terrifies me.
Lying in his bed naked in more ways than one, the reality of his words set in. My emotions are getting the best of me. I’ve let myself be vulnerable with him, something I don’t take lightly. Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be capable of again. But because he is who he is, because of his understanding, it feels like I’m with another version of myself. We are alike in a lot of ways; ambitious, hard-working, goal-oriented, family-oriented, and loners who don’t easily trust. And I want so badly to trust the version I know; the version whose touch makes me feel beautiful and breakable, fragile and worthy.
I share a reassuring grin with him as he leaves the room, burying my fears beneath that smile. It’s only when I hear his footfalls on the stairs that I let the tears slip. But they aren’t tears of regret or pain. They’re tears that let me know I made the right decision by choosing Lance Prescott, no matter where that decision leads us.
Lance
“Oh no. Oh, my God!” Her shriek is low, but it wakes me from a dead sleep. Raising my head from my pillow, I squint in the dark to see Harper shuffling around the room dressing frantically.
“What’s wrong?” I click on my bedside lamp, and she freezes, one leg in her shorts. Closing her eyes, she hangs her head.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
I grip her hand and pull her to sit on the edge of the bed, distracted by how her hair cascades down her back. I’m so tempted to pull her back to bed, but the look on her face has me on edge.
“Tell me.”
“It’s bad. Brace yourself.”
“Tell me.”
“I didn’t mean to. Swear to God.”
“To what?” I glance around the room and then back to her. “What could you have done in this room in the last few hours?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Out with it,” I growl impatiently and she jumps. “Sorry. But the suspense is killing me.”
“I may have just Snapchatted a picture of your ass and the top of your jersey to my sister. Well,” she says a blush creeping up her neck, “it was meant for my sister.”
“What?” I chuckle. “Why?”
“It’s not funny,” she says gravely.
“It’s kind of funny.”
“Lance, I Snapchatted your ass to my father!”
I freeze.
“I sent it to my whole family. I meant to just get the top of the jersey without the number, I was cropping it that way and didn’t see your ass in plain view behind it.”
“Did you add a caption?”
“Yes.”
I can’t help my laugh.
“Lance, it’s not funny!”
“Okay,” I say, unable to hide my smile. “Sorry,” I do my best to keep a straight face. “What did it say?”
“I’ve taken a lover. Grand man, indeed.”
“Oh, shit,” I lay back as laughter rips out from me.
“It’s not funny!” She whisper-yells before her face falls.