Page 24 of Hooked On The One That Got Away
‘And I love you, Willow Taylor,’ he said, quietly. ‘Always have. Always will.’
‘Ohhh …’
Willow sank down on the living room couch. Not their old couch, a new one. Dark blue velvet. It suited the room perfectly. Willow hated it on principle.
Charlie was keeping his distance, watching her. Willow turned her head pointedly away. Her tears had turned into those irritating hiccups that persist way longer than they should.
‘Can I get you a glass of water?’
‘No!’
Willow knew she was being childish but today had all been a bit bloody much. You could forgive a girl for taking a while to process.
She heard Charlie move, and snapped her head round and glared at him. He held up his hands in the surrender position.
‘I, er, I’m going to change, and put these pants in the wash,’ he said. ‘I’ll wash your sweatshirt, too,’ he added. ‘It’s suffered collateral chocolate damage. Is that okay?’
He was genuinely asking her permission. And Willow was running out of energy to stay mad.
‘Don’t use hot water,’ she said. ‘It sets the stain.’
‘Good tip. Thank you.’ Charlie was still treading carefully. ‘I’ll be back soon …’
Willow heard the fourth stair from the top creak, and pictured Charlie in their old bedroom. He always used to take his trousers off sitting on the edge of the bed. Didn’t have the balance to pull them off while standing, he claimed. It was nonsense, he just liked any excuse to bounce on the bed. Sometimes, he’d even take a flying leap from the middle of the room and twist in mid-air so he could land on his back. If Willow was reading, she have to hold tight to her book or it'd be bounced right out of her hands.
Dammit, Charlie …
Willow walked into the kitchen and splashed water on her face. As she dried her face and hands on a tea towel, she glanced out at the courtyard. Charlie had bought a cane egg chair, suspended from a stand. They’d always talked about getting one.
She climbed the stairs slowly and breathed deep before peering through the bedroom door. Charlie had his back to her. He was in his underwear, rummaging through a drawer, cursing under his breath.
Willow took a moment to admire the muscle definition of his back and legs. Then she said, ‘Let me guess. All your other shorts and trousers are also in the wash?’
Charlie leapt around, startled. ‘Shit …’ he breathed out. ‘And yes, that does appear to be the case.’
‘Thing is, if you wantcleanclothes,’ Willow said, ‘you have to do laundry on aregularbasis. Otherwise, you get a situation wherenothingis clean, and your laundry basket is very, very full.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ Charlie said, mustering his dignity.
He rummaged in the drawer again and drew something out with a triumphant, ‘Ah ha!’
‘No,’ said Willow. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘What have you got against cycling shorts?’ Charlie said.
‘Everything! Put themaway!’
Charlie’s grin faded. He fidgeted with the Lycra monstrosities in his hand, then said, ‘I’m honestly not sure if I canevermake it up to you, Willow. But I really,reallywant to try.’
‘I know,’ said Willow, softly.
Charlie stared at her. ‘I have no pants.’
Willow made her way over to him. Took the terrible cycling shorts and chucked them in a corner. Slipped her hands inside the waistband of his boxer briefs and traced the hollows down from his hipbones with her fingertips. Heard his sharp intake of breath and saw the stirring as his cock began to rise.
‘That,’ she said, ‘will not be a problem.’
Chapter Eighteen
