Page 54 of Rewrite the Rules

Joel

Ihate the term ‘twitterpated’—which I only know because of my little sister and her godawful taste in television when we were growing up. It’s a word that belongs in a Disney channel star’s bedazzled diary. But I can’t think of a better description for the way my heart is beating at record speed. A tingle shoots across my palms that I can’t press away. I’ve thought about this moment with Adler for so long. I never thought it’d happen.

I am also shocked, in the best way, that she’s the kind of girl that requests dick pics. I regret admitting this to Cody. His stupid smug smile was torture when I told him where I was headed this Friday evening. He gave some graphic advice I didn’t need as well as made some unwelcome suggestions about flavored ‘dicksicles’. Against his recommendation, I didnotbring along a jar of Nutella to Adler’s apartment.

Tap, tap.

I lightly brush my knuckles against Adler’s door. No answer. I close my hand and try again.

Knock, knock.

No answer.

I’m at apartment three-twelve, right? Adler, please don’t stand me up. Don’t be that girl.I pull out my phone to call her, but instead I see the text that I missed ten minutes ago.

Adler:Hopping in shower, door is open. Make yourself comfy.

Seriously? You left your door open while you hopped in the shower in the apartment that you live alone in?Clearly, Adler has never lived in a city like New York or she’d never be this careless. I turn the knob and as instructed, let myself in.

She must’ve just gotten home. Her suitcase is still by the door. Adler texted me the minute her flight landed and it still wasn’t soon enough. I was burning from anticipation all day.

It’s not the promise of sex. The past week has been grueling without her. Adler has become my workplace sunshine, radiating light and warmth to all the dull and dingy aspects of my day-to-day. I need her more than she understands and I am going to spend all night showing her how grateful I am that she’s back.

I settle into her little couch that is saturated with the aroma of her sweet perfume. It’s light and sweet. Like fruity candy. I could bathe in that smell.

The apartment is tiny. Even for a place in the heart of downtown Denver. It looks like some type of art deco building, patched and renovated in an attempt at a modern makeover, but the inside walls are still composed of the original mismatched brick. It suits Adler. The stripped hardwood floors and exposed pipes scream originality. It has all the artistic charm to match the writer who inhabits it.

Her bedroom is on what I’m sure this listing tries to pass as a second floor so it can double the cost of rent. It’s more accurately a floating alcove encased by flimsy iron rods gapped too far apart. They don’t look sturdy enough to support the weight of a butterfly. I can easily see her bed, night tables, dresser, and personal belongings from her living room sofa. She has no privacy upstairs except for the closed bathroom door where steam is currently seeping out of the bottom crack.She has to run up that construction hazard every time she has to pee?

I call out as I hear the shower shut off. “Adler, I’m here!” Just letting you know, seeing as you left your door unlocked and I could be a burglar, or worse.

“Okay, hi!” she squeaks from behind the door.

She emerges from the bathroom a few moments later in a green pair of shorts and a white tank top that is slowly drenching from her long damp hair. She takes the steps so quickly, she essentially floats. Floating is probably safer on those stairs.

“Hi, sorry. I had to wash the flight off of me.”

My eyes trail over her smooth thighs, sculpted with thin lines of muscle. Her tank top is now soaked from her hair. Only Adler could look like a centerfold in gym shorts and a plain top. I normally don’t give myself permission to look at her like this, but after our conversation last night, I let my gaze rest on her full tits. I imagine how perfectly they’d fill my hand…my mouth.

She settles on the opposite side of the couch, leaving a cushion between us, and pulls her knees to her chest. I feel the need to ease her nerves…to ease mine.

“How was your conference? We missed you at the office.”

“It was incredible. I learned so much. Tessa gave me a lot to think about.”

“You’re friends with the author who stole your book?”

Adler’s face twists in indignation. “Tessa did not steal my book. It’s her book and okay”—she exhales deeply—“I don’t want to get into it right now. I’m still a little hungover.” Adler reaches over no man’s land and squeezes my knee in a suggestive way that sends an electric pulse up my thigh.

“I see—it was a vacation. And here I thought your conference was educational.”

“Work hard, play hard.”

“Is it? Work?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to write another book?”

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