Page 24 of Thirst Trap
Whitley:Kids?
Jake: A whole bunch.
Whitley: Are you the one pushing them out? Because I’m a max three.
Jake: Three is good.
Whitley: Do you have any brothers or sisters? And how am I just asking you this!
Jake: You were asking me the important things like appetizers.
Whitley: It was important.
Jake: Of course it was, sweetness. And I have one sister. Older. She has a son and daughter. Luke is twelve, and Mariah is eight. They are great. She’s okay too, I guess.
Whitley: Are you fun Uncle Jake?
Jake: Of course. Especially when they were younger. Sugar them up and send them home. What about you? Siblings? Crazy overprotective brother I need to be aware of?
Whitley: One older brother, but not overprotective. We only see each other a few times a year, so you’re good.
I let out a big sigh of relief as Jake changes the topic of conversation from family to a story of something that happened today on his shift.
At least I didn’t have to lie to him.
That was the closest I’ve come to having to finally reveal my last name. Or, he’s a unicorn that does know who I am but doesn’t care.
Though the more I get to know him, the more I know he truly is one of a kind.
We’ve been having text conversations like this all week. And each night, we FaceTime before bed. I’m greeted every morning by a good morning text, and somehow, he knows the exact moment each day when I need to get a “thinking of you” message.
How did this man fall into my lap? Literally. Because every time he says something sweet or talks about volunteering to coach little league baseball, I have to pinch myself that he’s for real.
Every time we talk, I feel myself falling a little more for this man.
Which scares the heck out of me.
It hasn’t even been a full week since we reconnected. We’ve only spent one physical night with each other. What if all of this is still wrapped up in the tornado that was the first night we met? I don’t know if it is or not. All I do know is that every time I talk to him, there’s a smile on my face. And there hasn’t been a smile on my face like this in a long time.
Maybe ever.
Speak of the devil…
“Is it already time for our good night FaceTime?”
“No, but texting wasn’t doing it for me tonight.”
I take a seat on my bed, resting against the headboard. “You’re already tired of me?”
“Not even a little. I just got off of work early and wanted to see your gorgeous face.”
Swoon.
That’s what I want to do. Physically swoon. I want to melt right down off this headboard into a puddle of mush on my bed.
Who says things like this? The answer: he does.
“Quiet night in Rolling Hills?”
