Love Sincerely Yours
Page 26
because I thought I was different. I thought I mattered to him, that I could be someone he could talk to before jumping to conclusions.
I’m so mad at him, but I also want him.
I love him.
I hate everything about this.
Sighing, I take a sip of my lukewarm latte just as a new email pops up on my computer.
I set my latte down as I click on the preview, pulling up the email.
I don’t recognize the email address at first, but when I take a closer look, my heart
sputters in my chest, and my breath catches in my throat.
HandsRoamingPeytonsBody.
Subject: I don’t want to bang you . . .
With shaking hands, I scroll to the start of the email.
To Whom it May Concern (I mean you, Peyton):
You don’t know how gutted I am writing this, but it has to be said. Because I can’t
fucking stand it anymore.
I can’t breathe as tears start to well in my eyes, making it impossible to see the screen in
front of me. This is almost word for word the first email I sent him as LSY.
I cover my mouth in awe, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves.
But . . . full disclosure, I would like it to be known that I have consumed zero alcoholic
beverages before writing this. Yes, I might have had too many drinks in the last two weeks
while trying to fill an empty void in my heart, but I can honestly say right now, typing this
email, I am completely sober and pouring my heart out to you. For the record though, I’ve
had five cups of coffee this morning to make up for the sleepless nights without you.
I think it’s important to be open and honest with the one you love, don’t you? And full
disclosure, Peyton? I love you.
And I’m finally being honest.
I like you so much, and it’s clouding my judgment, making me do things I never would,
like lash out at you and blame you for things that you’d never in a million years do. < -
Did you read that? Never in a million years do I think you would BETRAY ME. I’m a
fucking asshole for even thinking it for a second, and I’m so fucking sorry.
I have a hopeless, foolish, school yard crush on you.
Did you know people around the office call ME a sadist? An egomaniac? An
insensitive, arrogant prick? But you knew from the beginning that my bark was worse
than my bite. You gave me a chance to prove that I’m more than the man behind the desk
with a tie cinched tightly around my neck.
For once, you were the one who put a smile on my face. You were the one I wanted to
impress. You were the one I wanted more than anyone else.
And as long as we're being honest, that blue sweater you’re wearing? With the low
enough V that I can see the swell of your breasts? It really makes me want to ask you a
very important question . . .
I don’t want to bang you . . . I want to love you if you’ll let me.
Love,
Sincerely,
ALWAYS Yours
Postscript: Look up.
Look up? What the heck does that mean? I wipe the tears from my eyes and lift my head to find Rome standing in front of me
with a white box in hand, the other hand stuffed in his pocket, looking nervous but so sexy
in his sweater and jeans.
Oh God, I forgot how handsome he is.
“Hey babe,” he says gently, taking a step forward. And there it is, his cologne waking me
up for the first time in weeks. Before I can say anything, he drops to one knee in front of me
and holds out the box. “Open it.” His intense eyes are intent on me, soulful and hopeful all
wrapped into one.
With shaky hands, I lift the lid of the pastry box to find my favorite quiche at the bottom
and written on the top with a key taped below it, it says, “I can’t live another day without
your hugs and ‘quiches.’ Will you move in with me?”
Like the girl that I am, I cover my mouth, and tears continue to fall from my eyes. He
sets the box on the table and takes my hands into his, never moving his eyes from mine.
“Peyton, I’m so goddamn sorry for what I said, for not trusting you when I know I
should have. You mean everything to me, and not because of all the incredible work you’ve
done for me, but because you’re so beautifully intelligent and witty and make me so fucking
happy. I can’t imagine another day without you by my side.” He kisses my hand and says,
“Will you forgive me and please move in with me?”
Unable to hold back my excitement or keep him waiting, I nod my head and chuckle as
he pulls me into his chest and hugs me until I feel like I’m about to break.
Sighing into my neck, he kisses my cheek and then whispers, “I love you so fucking
much, Peyton. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Out of my mind with joy, I hug him even tighter and then pull away. I point my finger at
him and say, “Don’t do it again. I don’t forgive easily.” He chuckles, the sound no longer foreign to my ears. “Never.”
Gripping his cheeks, I bring his lips to mine where I place a soft, gentle kiss on them
and say, “I love you, Rome, and I can’t wait to share a home with you, but . . .”
“But?” He cocks a brow at me.
“But we’re not living in that concrete jungle of an apartment you have.”
Smiling brightly, he says, “Don’t worry, I got the apartment two floors down. Fresh and
new for the both of us.”
“You’re such a good man.”
“Good for you.”
He captures his mouth with mine and even though we’re in the middle of a coffee house
most likely making a scene, I don’t care. He was known as a sadist and an egomaniac, and a
tyrant, but I knew deep down, he was a soulful gentleman with an alpha tendency that was
going to bring me to my knees.
And guess what? He’s all MINE.
When he pulls away, he sighs and rests his head against mine. “God, I love you.”
“I love you too.” Twisting my lips to the side in a smile, I add, “And by the way, I can’t
live another day without your hugs and ‘quiches.’ Clever, Rome. Very clever.”
He shyly shrugs. “Who knew Pinterest could help win your girl back?”
EPILOGUE
HUNTER
I can’t even look at those two. They’re so disgusting.
My two friends; the one I’ve had for half my life, and the other because, well—he fell in love with her, and she’s fucking cool. I couldn’t help but become her friend.
She’s irresistible, and I fell for her too, only I don’t get to bang her.
Rome does, the lucky bastard.
On the outside, Peyton looks like the girl-next-door, and I wouldn’t have pulled her
from a lineup if I were trying to find a date for him. Brunette when he preferred blondes.
Petite when he’d preferred tall.
She’s the opposite of everything he thought he wanted.
Not that he thought he wanted anyone, the fickle bastard.
Then she had to go and say she wanted to bang him . . .
Cheeky little shit.
“Why are you just standing there? You look weird.” Peyton’s sweet but insistent voice
interrupts my musing.
“I look weird?”
“Yeah, you look lost in space—and if you’re not careful, you’re going to drop that dresser
right on your foot.” She taps hers impatiently.
“And if you do, don’t think for one goddamn second you’re claiming that injury on my
&
nbsp; homeowner’s insurance.” Rome gives me a bump with the other end of the heavy,
mahogany dresser that’s going in their new bedroom.
We’re in their new apartment—just two floors below the one where Rome was living
before—and Peyton has us doing the heavy lifting.
“Give me some credit, asshole.” I heft the heavy wood, blowing out a little puff of air.
“Where are we putting this? I’m about to bust a nut.”
Peyton laughs, pointing to the large wall adjacent to their kingsize bed. “Right there
would be good; center it against the wall.” Her hands make a more that way . . . to the right . . . just a little motion, then she gives me the universal sign for stop. “Perfect.”
Hey. I’m all for the bastard moving in with the love of his freaking life, but how the hell
did I get roped into moving all their shit on my only weekend off?
He owes me.
I hate this bullshit; I’d rather pay some college kid a hundred bucks to come heft this
crap in my place.
Man—sometimes it sucks being such a good friend.
Rome leans his ass against the dresser, crossing his ankles and arms. Studies me. “What
are you doing tonight?”
It’s Saturday.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go out. Get a drink or three.”
Peyton’s brows go up. “No date?”
I laugh. “What, you think I have a list of chicks on speed dial ready and raring to go
every weekend?”
“Whoa,” she says. “I was just asking. No need to get defensive. And for the record, you
shouldn’t go out and drink alone.”
I usually don’t. But somehow, after spending the afternoon with these two disgusting
lovebirds, the idea of going home to my cold, dark apartment holds no appeal.
And she’s right; I shouldn’t go out drinking alone.
That’s just taking loveless and lonely to the next level, and I’m not ready to visit that
place in purgatory.
Yet.
Forget it.
So I paste on a smile like I always do. “Are you kidding me? I have the ladies lined up when I walk in the door; I won’t hurt for company.”
It’s a lie, one I always tell so they’ll get off my back and leave me alone about dating.
It’s Rome and Peyton’s favorite new pastime, besides public displays of affection and
learning how to play racquetball together.
They should stick to chasing balls and leave my love life the hell alone.
“Don’t lie, Hunter; you talk a lot of shit, but we all know you’re full of crap.” Peyton is
smug. “You’ll probably go home and watch a Lifetime movie.”
Close. It will probably be something on the CW.
“She’s kidding. We literally don’t give a shit what you do tonight.”
“Rome. Be nice.” She fixes her beautiful faze on me and I squirm. I hate when she does
this. “What you need to do is stop screwing around and—”
“Find myself a nice girl, I know. Blah, blah, blah. You’ve told me this a million times.”
Peyton doesn’t look affronted in the least. Rather, she looks knowing.
Always with the smirk.
“You know,” she begins slowly, scooting around the couch and making her way to the
kitchen. It’s warmer than Rome’s old one—neutral tones and dark navy accents—with
stainless steel appliances and tons of natural sunlight. “Rome’s sister is coming to town,
maybe—”
“No,” Rome and I shout at the same time.
Rome’s girlfriend looks back and forth between us. “What did I say? You didn’t even let
me finish my sentence—”
“The answer is no. It doesn’t matter what you were about to say.”
“I was just going to say she’s coming to town, and wouldn’t it be nice if they—”
“No.” Peyton scrunches up her face in a way that’s become familiar. “What’s wrong with her?”
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing is wrong with Rome’s sister, and that’s the fucking problem.
Bailey Blackburn is the opposite of what’s wrong; she’s everything that’s right, and I
shouldn’t go near her with a ten-foot pole.
I’m shocked Peyton would suggest it.
“The last time I saw Bay, she was on a feminist crusade with some college buddies, had
sworn off men, hacked off half her hair, and wore purple lipstick.”
But.
I’ve seen her accidentally online and, well—Bailey Blackburn has fucking changed. A lot.
She’s sexy as hell. Delicate. Feminine.
Clever as shit.
Once or twice I’ve accidentally studied the photos she posted of herself in a swimsuit on
a recent trip to Hawaii. I mean—the post popped up, and I had to fucking stare. It’s not like
I went looking for the damn thing.
“Yeah, no. She’s a thorn in my side.”
Liar.
“Oh. Well, never mind then. We can find someone else to show her around the office.”
Come again? “What do you mean, show her around the office?”
Peyton avoids my question, a smile growing. “Rome didn’t mention it?”
“Mention what?”
My partner and best friend shrugs, and I want to smack him. “She’s moving home and
needs a job.”
“And a place to live,” Peyton pipes in, getting a pan out of the cabinet and setting it on the stove with a clink.
“First we’ll worry about the job.” He shoots her a look, then focuses it on me. “I’m going
to put her to work at the office, doing random things. Maybe even some field testing.”
Field testing.
That’s my department.
I refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.
“When?”
“Sometime next week. She’s driving in from Colorado.”
“What was she doing in Colorado? What year is she?”
I thought she was in college.
“She’s been working for The Rockies doing sports marketing, but she’s been homesick,
and I told her if she ever wanted to come back, she’d have a home here.”
“And she’s homesick,” I deadpan.
“Yup.”
“Wait. Is she even old enough to have a job?”
Rome looks at me like I’m a fucking idiot. “She’s twenty-six, dipshit.”
Oh.
Well.
“Parlay, dude—I didn’t know. I thought she was nineteen.”
“You’re such an idiot.” Rome laughs, unable to stop himself. Christ, it’s good to see him
happy and smiling.
“Kids. When did they get so big?”
“Don’t let her catch you calling her that. She’s good at her job, highly respected.”
“Does the kitten have claws now?” I joke. Rome frowns. “Don’t let her catch you calling her that, either. She’ll literally claw your
eyes out.”
Noted.
I lean against the back of their new sectional, processing this information.
Rome’s sister Bailey is coming home, and she’ll be working at Roam, Inc. I can handle
it—it’s not like I’m in love with her or anything.
In fact, she’s the one who was in love with me, not the other way around.
I mean—she was like, twelve, but still.
Love is love, and love knows no age.
Especially when you’re twelve years old . . .
Bay was crazy, following me everywhere. Blushing when I’d talk to her directly or say
her name. Giving me gifts (gum, mostly, and other cheap shit, like candy). Made me damn
uncomforta
ble, but I was sixteen and she was younger, and I knew nothing about women,
let alone impressionable, sensitive girls.
She was infatuated with me for one summer.
Until I told her to piss off and leave me alone, in those exact words.
She told me to fuck off.
I smile at the memory of the fire in her eyes, fueled by her humiliation.
She hated me after that and I don’t blame her.
I was a pompous little prick, who acted like a dick.
Bailey Blackburn. Who would have thought?
And she’s coming home . . .