Page 54 of Concealed

Life with a cop.

This is the shit that happens.

Constant interruptions. Crazy schedules. Never being first on the priority list. And men on power trips who don’t care about victims, often leaving behind a trail of their own.

But applying my description of cops to Wyatt is like pulling on a pair of way too tight jeans. I could lie on the bed and use a coat hanger to get the damn things up, or I could – re-evaluate.

Think of him as Wyatt and not as just another damn cop.

He isn’t Matt.

He’s Wyatt.

And I want him.

Waiting an appropriate amount of time before going after him takes a lot of self-restraint. Surely, a phone call and shower should only take fifteen minutes.

Maybe I should wait for twenty, just in case. Or maybe I should wait for him to come back downstairs.

But I’m sick of waiting.

That’s it.

I’m shooting my shot.

This time, I’m going to kiss him.

The hardwood floor is cool under my bare feet, and I can’t tell if I’m shivering from the air conditioning or anticipation. Either way, each step increases my resolve, and each stair brings me closer to what is inevitably about to happen.

I won’t allow myself to think further ahead than my next step, my fingertips trailing along the banister as I make my way upstairs.

What happens after I open Wyatt’s door? I don’t know because this version of me lives in the present and just goes for it.

No pain from the past.

No fear over the future.

Now – justnow.

The upstairs of the house is silent. The water isn’t running, so Wyatt must be done in the shower. The heavy stillness and complete silence suggest he isn’t on the phone anymore either.

Maybe he changed his mind and went to bed. How mortifying would it be if I opened his bedroom door and woke him up from a dead sleep?

No.

I’m not going to let doubts or excuses get in my way.

This is perfect timing.

I picture myself before Matt, out at parties with my friends where I drank fruity martinis, danced with strangers, and laughed with ease. I was spontaneous, a total wild child, and so muchfun.

I’m channeling that girl and stepping into the version of myself I want to be as my hand rests on the cold metal doorknob leading to Wyatt’s bedroom. Anxiety is wild horses galloping through my chest, but I’m not turning around.

I’m not going to knock either.

He’s expecting me – mostly.

Either way, I’m a damn good surprise.

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