Page 97 of A Love That Broke Us
Hey babe, I’m so sorry. I got held up at work and my phone died.
That’s ok… Are you on your way?
Jensen
Yeah. I’m on my way.
Alright… ETA?
I take a deep breath. He’s on his way.Tonight’s still going to be great.
I picture him walking through the door, a cocky grin plastered on his face as he eyes me up and down. He won’t even care about dinner when he sees me. He’ll want me first. He’ll run his lips along my skin, teasing and tasting until I’m all butbeggingfor him, making me forget all about the meal I made. I press my thighs together as heat pulses through me.Shit.I’m turned on just thinking about it.He better hurry.
It dawns on me just then that I can check his location. I pull up the Find My app and tap his name. My brows furrow. That’s weird. His phone’s offline. The last known location shows him at work. I stare at the screen.Offline?Why does that feel like a punch to the gut?
Maybe it died again. He might have only gotten a quick charge, just enough to send that text.
I pause the show and call him again, but it goes straight to voicemail.Yep, his phone’s dead.
I press play and position myself on the couch so I’m angled toward the door. I want to be the first thing he sees when he walks in. He’s been so stressed lately, so uptight. Work’s been extra busy, and he’s been having to stay later than usual. Nothing a little seduction can’t fix.
I finish another episode, and the credits start to roll. I glance at the time.What the hell?It’s been forty minutes since he said he was on his way. I stare at my phone, willing it to vibrate.
But it doesn’t.
With a sigh, I push up from the couch and head into the kitchen, glaring at the dinner I made for him. I left everything on warm, but after two hours… it’s just not the same. I make myself a plate and return to the couch, my pride wounded. I flip on another episode. I need the distraction or I’ll go crazy waiting. I feel stupid, sitting here like this—all this work, all this effort. He’s not even here.
Another episode ends, and my stomach twists. My worry’s no longer a four. It’s an eight. Jensen doesn’t just come home three hours late.
I try calling again, but it goes straight to voicemail. Again. My fingers drum against the couch cushion, the rhythm getting faster.
I text Matt.
Hey, have you heard from Jensen?
He responds within minutes.
Matt
No, sorry. I’m just barely getting home. Everything okay?
Yeah, was just wondering.
He sends a thumbs up, and I drop my phone beside me, my heart beating slightly faster.
It’s almost nine. Even when Jensen stays late, it’s never past eight, and he always keeps me posted. I bite my thumbnail, my leg bouncing with restless energy.Something’s not right.
I shuffle into the kitchen in my underwear and start cleaning up, needing something,anything, to keep my mind from spiraling through the what-ifs. I’m sure he’s fine, and worst-case, I can still surprise him. Even if dinner’s put away and I’m no longer in the mood.
All I wanted was to take some of the stress off his shoulders. Help him unwind. Make him feel loved.
My phone dings from across the room, and I rush to the couch to grab it.
Jensen
Babe, I’m so sorry. A coworker was having car trouble. I’ve been helping him. Be there soon.
I let out a sigh of relief. He’s okay. He’s helping someone. It sucks for me, but that’s also so… Jensen.
