Page 99 of Boss of Me
The simple message with the heart emoji makes me grin like a schoolboy experiencing his first crush.
The second message reads:This was us last night.
There’s a picture attached, an image of a couple sitting across from each other with a candlelit birthday cake glowing between them. I recognize the popular shot fromSixteen Candles, an old eighties flick with Molly Ringwald and some guy whose name I couldn’t tell you without googling it.
A warm laugh escapes me when I see that Marlowe photoshopped our faces onto the actors’ bodies.
“Aww,” Maverick coos, reading over my shoulder. He makes an obnoxious smooching noise and singsongs, “Gunner and Marlowe sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g?—”
“Fuck off.” But I’m grinning. I can’t help myself.
This thing with Marlowe . . . I don’t even know how to define it. The way I feel about her is uncharted territory. I’d kill for her without batting an eye. I’d die for her. Rot in a Siberian prison for her.
I’m absolutely and totally addicted. She’s like a drug pumped into my veins, flooding my bloodstream and jolting my heart in the most intense thrill rush.
I can’t get enough of her, and I don’t know if I ever will.
Which means I’m eternally, royally fucked.
Leaning back against the elevator wall, I respond to her messages:Can’t wait to come home to you . . .
I hover over the send button, just for a few seconds, no more than five. Then I punch it with my finger and glance over at my brother. He’s texting on his phone, thumbs flying over the keypad.
“Mav.”
He grunts distractedly.
“I need you to hold down the fort for a few days. Think you can handle that?”
“Don’t I always?”
I nod. “Point taken.”
He looks at me, one brow cocked. “You going somewhere?”
I gaze down at my phone screen, tracing Marlowe’s beautiful face with my finger.
“Yeah,” I murmur almost to myself. “I’m going somewhere.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
marlowe
Iwake up alone on fridaymorning.
The other side of my bed is empty, the pillow dented where Gunner’s head had lain. I reach out and run my hand slowly across the soft mound. It’s cool to the touch, which means he’s been gone for a while.
Feeling achingly bereft, I sit up in bed and push my tousled hair out of my face. That’s when I see a note lying on the nightstand. Puzzled, I reach over and pick it up, smiling at Gunner’s bold, masculine handwriting.
Kitten,
Had to run to an early meeting. You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t have the heart to wake you. I’m taking you away for the weekend, so you need to pack a bag. I picked out a few things for youto wear. Hope you like them. We’re leaving at 10, so be ready. See you soon.
Yours,
G.R.
I squeal with excitement, the sound echoing around the room.
