“Do you have time to head back to the apartment to change, or do you need to get to the agency?” Soren asked as he settled his bags at our feet. I smiled when I saw he’d left the wrap I’d taped around his ankle in place. The swelling had gone down, but half of his foot was blue and purple from the bruising he’d woken up to.
“The agency. I don’t want to chance it and be late.”
Soren leaned forward to give the address to the driver, then he settled back into his seat. When he glanced at me, my stomach twisted into a million knots. We’d barely woken up in time to shower, get dressed, and throw down a few bites of breakfast before the cab Soren’s dad had called for us arrived. There had been no time to recap or replay any of what had happened last night, but with the way he was looking at me right now, I could practically feel him moving inside me all over again.
“Glad you could finally make it to dinner with the family.” One side of his mouth twitched.
“Now I understand why you were so eager to get me there.”
“Nothing says romance like two parents one floor below and three obnoxious brothers, right?”
I combed through my purse to grab a few items to get myself ready for the day. “Well, that, and baseball twin-sized sheets.”
Soren chuckled. “Works every time.”
“Or at least one time, Mr. Saving Yourself for Marriage.”
“You’re one to talk,” he jousted back, glancing toward the driver. He was on his cell phone, speaking a different language. “And I wasn’t saving myself for marriage. I was saving myself for the right one.”
“The right one?” I raked a brush through my hair, lifting my eyebrow at him.
Soren lifted his eyes. “Why am I the only hopeless romantic in this relationship?”
“Because it’s ‘hopeless,’” I fired back with a smile.
Soren was about to nudge me when he stopped. I was in the middle of brushing on a couple coats of mascara.
“My parents kind of brought us up believing that there was one right person out there for us, you know? That there was one person for everyone,” he continued, shifting. “It wasn’t like they said that around the dinner table or anything. We just saw that with the way they are together. I think we all realized we weren’t going to waste our time pretending. We’d hold out for that just right one.”
I twisted the cap on the mascara and tucked it away. “You believe that? There’s only one perfect person for each of us?” It was a beautiful idea. One I wished I believed in—but I’d never once witnessed it. Relationships, at least the romantic kind, always seemed to be more of the opposite. My dad’s leaving, my mom’s failed string of relationships that followed—it made a cynic out of the softest of souls.
“Partly, yeah”—he nodded, rolling his hand—“but I think it has more to do with what we choose to believe more than how it actually is. And for me, yeah, I choose to believe that there is one right person for me. One woman I was meant to love.”
That hardened cynic inside me started to melt. “Why?”
From the way he was looking at me, it was like he expected me to know. Or was waiting for me to figure it out. “Because that’s the way I want to love someone. Like she’s irreplaceable. Like I’d wait forever, search forever, until I got to be with her.”
My throat moved, but the ball lodged in it stayed. “Okay, I get that,” I said, my voice giving away my emotion. “And you are so getting lucky tonight.”
Soren fist pumped in celebration before reaching for me. His hand folded over my shoulder, and he tucked me into the shelter of his chest. “There. That feels right.” When he exhaled, it was like he’d been holding his breath for a while.
“Putting your arm around me?” I asked, winding my arm over his stomach and sliding closer.
His head nodded above mine. “Before, I’d get the urge to pull you close or hold you or touch you, and I had to catch myself before I did it. Now, I get the urge, and I just do it.”
His lips touched my head. Everything else touched something deeper inside me.
Closing my eyes, I imagined everything would work out between us. “It does feel right.”
With all of the days I worked late, this was one time I really could have benefitted from getting off at a normal end-of-day hour. Even for work-weary New Yorkers, I was getting off late.
I’d texted Soren earlier to let him know I wouldn’t be home until after nine, maybe ten, and apparently he’d been running late too. His coach had tacked on an extra practice, and he had to finish up a lab after that.
The meeting with the client had gone well. Better than expected. I might have lost a liter of fluid via my armpits, I was so nervous, but we walked away from the day with them still wanting me to be the face of their new campaign.
My feet were screaming as I climbed the stairs, even in my flats, so I kicked them off somewhere between the third and fourth floor and journeyed the rest of the way barefoot. Soren had told me to text him when I hit the subway so he could meet me at the stop by our apartment, but I hadn’t. He was busy enough without having to escort me to and from a subway station. Besides, the days were getting longer, and by his definition, it was still dark, since there’d been plenty of people out on the sidewalks.
Unlocking the door, I braced myself for him to be upset about me not texting him, but instead I found a quiet apartment. A couple of lights were burning, but I didn’t see or hear him until I rounded into the kitchen.
He was at the table, sitting in his favorite chair, books and notebooks spread around him. He was almost snoring he was sleeping so hard.
I’d been looking forward to seeing him tonight. I’d been really looking forward to doing more of what we’d done last night. No family within earshot, no pictures of an eight-year-old Soren holding a baseball bat over his shoulder staring at me from the walls.
But he had to be exhausted if he’d fallen asleep the way he had. With school, practice, and work, he’d barely been averaging five hours of sleep a night. He needed his rest, however he could get it.
As I headed to my area to get changed into pajamas, I noticed he was still in his practice uniform. He’d gone through two practices, kept it on to finish a lab at school, and was still in at when he’d come home?
I realized why when I checked behind his partition to find an ungodly pile of dirty laundry. He’d been too busy for laundry too.
Since I could sleep in a bit in the morning, I decided to tackle Mt. Soiled Soren. I’d been planning on spending a couple hours tonight with him anyway—maybe not doing his laundry, but it was something he needed taken care of, regardless.
Thankfully, both washers were open when I carried the first heap into the laundry room at the end of the hall. After getting those first couple of loads started, I headed back to the apartment to tackle a few other projects.
Six loads of laundry, twenty ready-to-go meals, and one spotless apartment later, I felt like I was about to fall asleep in the chair across from Soren as I rolled the last pair of his socks together.
I was trying to tuck one of his undershirts between his head and his textbook “pillow” when he jerked awake. He blinked a few times before he shot up in his chair, grabbing his phone to check the time.
“Fuck,” he grunted as he bolted out of his chair.
He didn’t realize I was beside him until his chest rammed into mine.
“You’re here.” His hands formed around my arms as he blinked the last bit of sleep out of his eyes. “Christ, I fell asleep. I’m sorry.” His neck rolled as he rubbed at the indents on his face from the textbook. “Why didn’t you text me? You didn’t walk back by yourself, did you?”
I exhaled. “The subway station is maybe a third of a mile away from here. I managed just fine.”
“Hayden—” He cut himself off, rolling his neck again. “Why didn’t you text me so I could walk with you?” His voice was more composed, his face less harsh.
“Can we please not talk about this right now?�
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When I turned to walk away, his hand grabbed mine. Before I knew what I was doing, I was pressed up against him, my hands and mouth covering him. Hoisting me up, Soren’s other hand slipped between my legs, and a tremor spilled down him when he felt my body already ready, waiting for him.
He lowered my back onto the table—it shook when he did, pencils and paper scattering to the floor. My hands worked at his buckle as he slid my shirt up my body, exposing my breasts. Once I’d yanked the button of his white practice pants free, I ran my hands along the sides of his jockstrap before working it down his hips.
“I need to feel you.” He grunted as my hand circled his shaft when it sprang free.
I had barely nodded before his fingers hooked my sleep shorts and underwear with one finger, sliding them just enough aside so he could . . .
A primal cry spilled out of me, my back lifting off the table when he thrust into me. The legs of the table squeaked across the floor when he moved into me again. His chest covered mine, his face settling above mine as he fucked me. The screech of the table legs moving with each thrust, the sound of our gasps as we drove closer, the noise or our bodies pistoning together . . . my orgasm surged to the surface instantly.
“Look at me when you come,” Soren commanded. “Let me see the look in your eyes when my cock makes you come. I need to see it.”
My fingers raked down his back, my body writhing below him as I let loose. I kept my eyes open as my release fired through me, letting him watch.
“Watch me now, Hayden. Watch my eyes.”
The muscles running through his neck went rigid as he thrust into me one more time, holding himself deep as his orgasm released into me. Watching him come, feeling it as I stared into his eyes, spurred my second orgasm. I was so surprised by it, I thought I was having a heart attack, right before the familiar explosion of pleasure charged through me, making its way into every dip and hollow.
By the end, I was trembling in his arms. I felt broken apart and whole all at once. Soren’s eyes didn’t leave mine for another minute, his body still claiming mine long after our desire had been spent.
Our bodies were clammy with sweat, our chests moving as erratically as our breaths. His lips covered mine in what might have been the sweetest, most gentle kiss to have ever been given, before he lifted me and carried me across the room.
I trembled against him again. “Your bed or mine?”
His arms held me tighter. “Our bed.”
How was it possible to miss someone I’d only been “official” with for a week as much as I had over the past seven days?
That dull ache of separation didn’t take a single break my whole trip to Paris. Even when I slept, I’d wake up to the same heaviness. It was only one week, but it didn’t feel like it. I’d be leaving again for Paris in a couple of days, and that would be the trend for the next long while. The colossal client was in Paris, which meant most of my work life was now in Paris. Halfway across the planet practically—and here I thought I’d moved to the fashion capital of the world.
Of course I’d get booked by a client based internationally.
Soren had to hit the road later tonight with his team for an away game in the morning. Which meant we had a couple hours of overlap. Two hours in a week. I wasn’t experienced in relationships, but I knew that wasn’t a good way to start a new one.
My flight had come in late, so instead of swinging by the apartment to drop off my suitcase and link up with Soren before we headed to whatever he had planned for us, I told him I’d meet him there. I didn’t want to waste time since, in our case, each minute was precious.
When the cab pulled in front of the restaurant Soren had picked, I realized I was slightly underdressed. Leggings, a tunic, and flats weren’t cocktail dresses and designer heels.
Grabbing the small suitcase I’d carried on, I moved out of the cab after paying the driver. I felt jet-lagged from the time changes, tired from working twelve-hour days, and exhausted from missing him.
The instant I saw Soren moving through the restaurant’s door toward me, all signs of fatigue disappeared.
He didn’t say anything; he just wound his arms around me and pulled me close. The suitcase fell from my hands so I could wind mine around him. We stood like that for a minute, holding each other in the diffused light of a streetlamp on a dark street, until our breathing had synced.
“God, I missed you,” he said.
My body felt like it was melting into his from how close he was holding me. “Missed you more.”
His lips touched my temple before he stepped back. “Impossible.” His arm draped behind my back as he lifted my carry-on in his other hand to head back inside.
“I don’t think I’m dressed for the occasion.” I glanced at Soren, who was wearing dark slacks and a button-down shirt. “Maybe I should change,” I suggested as we moved by the restrooms stationed up front. I had a dress and heels in my carry-on that would suit this place better than my international flight attire.
“Don’t be crazy. You look perfect.” Soren wove us through the crowd of customers staggered through the waiting area, moving toward the hostess.
“Says the man who’s probably so desperate to get laid, he’d say that if I came in wearing a paper sack and galoshes.”
“You know me so well.” He winked at me before turning to the hostess. “Decker. Reservation for seven o’clock.”
The hostess ran a pencil down the clipboard she was holding, her forehead creasing when she reached the bottom. She started at the top again. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have a reservation for Decker at seven.”
Soren’s head shook. “I called last week and made the reservation. I know I made one.”
She read through the reservation list again, her gaze drifting into the busy waiting area right after. “Is there any chance you could have given a different name?”
His neck rolled. “No.”
“Soren, it’s okay. We can go somewhere else.”
He scooted closer so he could see the reservation list. “No. I made reservations here, because I read they were one of the best restaurants in the city to have a romantic dinner.”
“We can go to that burger joint by the apartment and bring a candle and a rose to set on the table.”
My suggestion didn’t draw the response I was going for. His hand raked through his hair as he waved into the restaurant. “I made a reservation. If you want to see the call on my phone, I can show you. There’s just two of us. Can’t you squeeze us in?”
I hadn’t noticed out on the street how tired he looked as well. He’d shaved and his hair, usually hidden by a cap, had been combed, but there were dark shadows under his eyes. From the calls and texts we’d exchanged this week, he’d probably put in sixteen-hour days to my twelves.
“I’m sorry, sir. We’re fully booked tonight. If you like, I can suggest a few other options close by, or I’d be happy to make a reservation for you for a later date—”
“A later date won’t work,” Soren didn’t quite but almost snapped. “I leave tonight. She leaves again on Monday.”
The hostess was getting flustered, Soren already was, so I slid in front of him in an attempt to convince him we could go somewhere else. Anywhere else. I didn’t care, because we were together. I would have been in bliss if we grabbed a couple of hot dogs and sodas from a street vendor and parked it on a curb, because after the longest week on record, we were together again.
The annoying roommate I used to make a point of keeping my distance from was now the one I wanted to be as close to as possible.
“Hayden?” a familiar voice called right before Ellis appeared over Soren’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
Soren’s jaw worked before he turned.
“What did you think of Paris? I already know how much the client loved you.” Ellis didn’t seem to care how close Soren was hovering beside me. He leaned in and gave me a quick hug. It wasn’t anything outside the realm of casual fr
iends, but from the look on Soren’s face, Ellis might as well have shoved me up against a wall and stuck his tongue in my mouth.
“Paris was good. I’m glad to be home though.” I leaned out of the embrace before he was ready to let me go.
A blonde woman in a couture gown waited behind him, but Ellis made no effort to introduce her.
“From the sounds of the shows and campaigns they want to use you for, Paris is going to become your home away from home soon.”
Soren’s head twisted toward me. He knew I’d be back and forth to Paris for a while. I just might have left out how frequently, and how long of a duration, that would be. I’d really only just found out this past week that the client wanted to keep things open until they had a chance to work with me. From the sounds of it, I’d impressed them. Some awkward girl from Nebraska was going to be the face of an iconic international fashion brand. The news was still sinking in.
“Did you just finish dinner or are you just about to sit down?” Ellis asked after his prior statement remained unaddressed.
“Actually—”
Soren’s hand dropped onto my back, moving me away. “We’re just leaving.”
“Did you have a nice dinner? This is one of my favorite places.”
I sealed my lips, letting Soren answer however he wanted to. Even if that meant walking us out the door.
“They don’t have the reservation I made. So we’re heading somewhere else.”
Ellis chuckled, moving up to the hostess table. “Yeah, sometimes they do that when certain people arrive.”
I hoped Soren had missed the way Ellis said certain people like it was an affliction. He hadn’t.
After having a short conversation with the hostess, Ellis leaned in to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “You’re all set. Melanie here has a table ready for you.”
Again, I waited for Soren’s lead. He wasn’t exactly fond of Ellis, so if he wanted to leave instead of accept some favor, I was good with that. Instead, he took my hand and moved up to where the hostess was waiting for us with menus in hand.
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