Page 88 of Dear Roomie
It might not be today or even next week, but there’s no doubt in my mind that we will be able to figure it out together. I don’t care how much time it takes for James to be ready, she will be worth the wait.
I don’t know how much time passes, but it’s long enough that my legs start to go numb.
James is the first to pull away. The absence of her touch sends a pang of longing through me. No amount of her will ever be enough. I pull myself off the floor with a groan and stretch out my stiff limbs as I head toward my room. The sound of paper sliding against the floor catches my attention, stopping me as I’m halfway out the door. A smile tugs at my lips as I pick up the note and read it, and then I read it again.
My heart swells and bursts with a wave of joy that crashes through me, but as it recedes, something else is left, a nagging dread that this is all happening too soon. It’s only been a month since she left Tanner. Has she actually had the time to heal? Can she really love me when it feels like only yesterday that her heart belonged to somebody else?
I clutch the note to my chest and walk into my room, not giving her a response. A few moments pass, giving me time to fully process what she told me, and one thing becomes glaringly obvious.
I’m making a huge mistake.
Walking away again is the coward’s way out, and I’m done being a coward.
I turn around and walk back through the bathroom, not giving myself the time to think through my actions, and push open her door without knocking.
Her bright, swollen eyes widen at my sudden intrusion, but then her face relaxes into a brilliant smile. God, I’ve missed that smile. She looks better than she did a month ago. Her radiance has returned, and she glows against themundane backdrop of her room. This woman holds my heart in the palm of her hands, and she has for far longer than she will ever know. If she wants it, it’s hers. I’m all in.
I hold the note out to her, my hands shaking with nerves, and ask, “Do you mean it?”
Chapter 35
James
Islide the written confession under the door and wait.
One moment passes, and then another. By the third, my heart breaks.
He isn’t going to respond.
The sound of his retreating steps breaks through the roaring static of blood echoing in my ears. Of course he ran away. If I had any tears left, they’d be flowing, but all that’s left is an empty void in the pit of my stomach. I guess this is it for us.
Some fucking birthday.
The cheap plastic carpet fibers dig into the skin of my exposed thighs, leaving a map of irritation on my legs as I peel them off the floor. My body aches from being in the same position for so long, but I didn’t notice the pain until the soothing balm of his presence was ripped away.
I only make it halfway to my bed before the door behind me swings open, revealing my roommate looking every bit as out of control as I feel, with his eyes wild behind his glasses and his curls disheveled. It’s easy to picture him sitting on the other side of the door, running his hand through his hair the way hedoes when he’s uncomfortable. The sleeves of his button-down are rolled, and the top few buttons are undone, exposing the toned muscles in his forearms and the tops of his collarbones. The rest of him is just as disheveled, with the shirt untucked and his bare feet sticking out from under his wrinkled khakis. He looks perfect. I can’t help the smile that breaks out across my face. Morgan is here. He didn’t run.
“Do you mean it?” he asks, his voice shaking as much as the outstretched hand that holds my confession.
“More than anything.” I put the full depth of my feelings into those words.
“Say it.” His commanding plea is thick with emotion.
“I love you, Morgan Hall.” The weight of the world lifts off my shoulders at the words, leaving me feeling lighter than I have in a long time.
“Again,” he pleads.
“I love you.”
He crosses the room in a few long strides, wraps an arm around me, and crushes his lips to mine. His kiss ignites fireworks throughout my body, sending sparks of white-hot pleasure to my core. I gasp at the feeling, and he doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the opening, coaxing my tongue with his own. My fingers weave into his hair, pulling him closer as I take control of the kiss. He gives in readily, mirroring my movements but letting me set the pace.
Hot breath caresses my face as he pulls away and tries to catch his breath. Annoyance flashes through me. Now is the time for kissing, not breathing. I chase his lips, desperate for another taste of him, but he moves far enough back that my hands fall from his head. His gaze finds mine, those hazel eyes shining with uncensored adoration.
“I love you too, James Clarke.”
“Say it again,” I tease.
“I love you,” he tells me over and over, peppering my face with quick kisses between each reverent declaration.
