Page 126 of Crazy In Love
I choke out a pathetic laugh and swipe fresh tears from my lashes.
Firstly, and just because I can’t let this moment go without saying so, your texts today contain more words than ALL of your previous texts combined.
That’s interesting!
Second, you did nothing at midnight last night. But I stopped being mad and sad and weird about the declaration I didn’t get at the airport-taxi stand-and/or my apartment door.
Because that was immature and silly, and it’s not what true love is built upon.
Those declarations were for a little girl who desperately wanted to be chosen. Now…
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and suckle, tapping send while I contemplate how to finish my sentence.
Now, what? You met some hunk on the plane and forgot about me?
Now, I’m a woman who was chosen. Finally. It took me nearly three decades to realize waiting for someone else to love me is ridiculous, when I needed to love me all along.
I had that power, but I kept tossing it to everyone else, hoping they’d do something magical with it.
But here’s the kicker: I never told these people what I needed. In fact, I told them the opposite.
Like expecting Alana to beg me to move to Plainview: duh, of course, she wouldn’t! I never shut up about hating the place.
And telling you I wanted us to be a secret: how could I expect you to tell me any different, when I’d already made clear I only wanted casual?
I kept saying I wanted one thing, but hoped silently for another. And then I kept getting mad when I received the things I asked for and not the things I wished for.
“Fox?”
I startle and spin, locking eyes with a curious Booker waiting in his office door. His gaze flickers down to my phone, then up to my face. And though I know he sees the tears in my eyes, he swallows and pretends,for my sake,they don’t exist. “We’re ready when you are. Take a minute, then join us.”
Take a minute and wipe your face, you unhinged whackadoodle.
Nodding, I clean my cheek and clear my throat. “One minute and I’ll be ready to start. Thank you.”
He drops his chin and backs up, closing the door and giving me my moment of privacy, so when I check my screen again, I’m greeted by a barrage that make my heart skip.
I’m sorry I have an aversion to itchy sheets and ill-fitting shirts. If I could touch either without wanting to tear my skin off, I would.
But since we’re taking a leap and streaking buck-ass naked out of comfortable and into exposed as fuck: I love you.
Stupidly, I told Tommy. And I told Alana. Oh, and Cliff knows.
And Eliza, too.
And Raya.
In fact, she told me. And even when I tried to deny it, she called me a liar. A hunky, hunky liar—her words.
So basically, everyone knows. Except you.
Yet, you were the only one I needed to tell. I fucked that up, Fox. I swear, I wanted to. I tried to.
But the idea that you wouldn’t feel the same scared the piss out of me, so I shut my trap and wasted our five weeks, and now you’re in New York.
Would you believe me if I told you I was planning to move there, too? I was gonna follow you.
I cough on the emotion trying its best to choke me. Then I type a fast reply.
