Page 8 of Love You From Afar

Me: Fifth floor, condo 510.

I pad into the living room, bringing my phone and half-empty glass of wine with me. Plopping down on the couch, I reach for the fleece blanket before resting it across my body, cocooning me in warmth.

Everett: Got it. See you in the morning.

I rest my head on the arm of the couch, pondering what I should text back. No matter what I send, it would feel like a goodnight text, so I decide to send nothing at all. My body grows sleepy the longer I lay sprawled out on the couch, my phone slipping from my hand and rattling against the wooden floor.

I usually never have dreams, but the alcohol flowing through my veins must be playing tricks on me, because the second I close my eyes, my mind unconsciously drifts tohim. A man that seems so familiar, yet so distant.

The image is so vivid, it almost feels real. The first thing I see is his honey-brown hair, long enough to reach his ears, but short enough to rest at the nape of his neck. It’s as if I can feel the texture, the thick strands soft between my roaming fingers. I can see the dark scruff growing along his cheeks, which makes him look like a sexy lumberjack when he lets it get a little too long. I remember the feeling of the coarse stubble of his jaw rubbing against my skin,every inch of my skin. I remember the evidence it left on my body for days, the small marks and scrapes causing my blood to heat each time I caught a glimpse of my naked body in the mirror.

His sapphire eyes are staring back at me, swirling with heat like the deep sea during a hurricane. His strong body towers over mine, almost a foot taller. My eyes lazily trail down the prominent veins in his neck, to his tan chest peaking over the buttons of the flannel he always wears. His chest is heaving up and down with heavy breaths as he cradles my face between large hands before carefully sliding them into my hair. Chill bumps pebble my skin as he brushes his calloused thumbs across my cheeks in soft, intimate swipes. My gaze trails back up to his ocean eyes as I stare at him in wonder, completely entranced by the man standing before me.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it's exhaustion. But for once, I don’t seem to care that the spitting image of Everett Thompson is invading my dreams.

FOUR

Everett

Thud. Thud. Thud.

My fist repeatedly raps on what is supposed to be Skylar’s door over and over again. I started with light knocks, nervous to be face-to-face with her, but after about five minutes of continuous knocking, my patience is wearing thin.

Where the hell is she?

Did she purposely give me the wrong condo number? After trying to convince her to book a flight the night before our trip, I wouldn't be surprised if she did. I have to be honest, that wasn’t my brightest moment… I felt like shit afterward.

“Skylar, open up! I’m about to leave your ass here,” I shout through the sealed crack of the door, praying to God she hears me.

When she didn’t text me back last night, I almost sent her one last text just to make sure she would be ready this morning. I quickly decided against it, not wanting to double-text her twice in one night. The last thing I want is for her to get the wrong idea. The only reason I texted her in the first place was to try to get us out of this god-awful situation. I was trying to give her an out. It’s no secret that Elliot put us in this dilemma, clearly not having any idea of how awkward this is going to be.

Crossing my arms over my chest and inhaling a frustrated breath, I tilt my head up toward the ceiling and close my eyes. We were supposed to be on the road ten minutes ago. Every second I stand here waiting is another second of daylight we’re losing.

“Dammit, Skylar,” I curse under my breath, pulling my phone from the pocket of my jeans. My foot impatiently taps against the tile floor as I try to call her. It feels like the ringing lasts for an eternity until I finally get her voicemail.

“Hi, it’s Skylar. Sorry I missed your call. Leave your name and number, and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks!”

I can hardly wait for the beep, because I’m leaving a fucking message.

Beep.

“Is this a joke? I told you I would be here at six, not a second later. Where the hell are you, Skylar? I’ve been outside your door for over fifteen minutes now. Keep in mind that I’m doing this as a favor toyou. I already planned on driving, with or without you. At this point, you’re just being inconsiderate. If you don’t open the door or call me back within the next minute, I’m leaving your ass here—”

The frantic swoosh of a door opening stops me mid-sentence… The door I’ve been knocking on for several minutes. I don’t even have a chance to end the call before I’m dropping the phone from my ear, stumbling back to put space between me and the half-dressed woman standing in the doorway.

“Everett,” she gasps. “Oh my God. What time is it?” Skylar asks in a raspy tone, revealing that she literally just woke up.

Before I can respond, my eyes dip from her shocked expression, swiftly sweeping down the length of her body.

Her long brown hair is loose, so dark and shiny, resembling the color of deep mahogany. The wavy strands act as a curtain around her shoulders, falling beneath the swells of her breasts. She’s wearing a silky beige tank top paired with matching sleep shorts that barely reach the top of her thighs. Her panicked breaths are causing her tank top to rise and fall in a continuous motion, a sliver of her toned stomach coming into view with each inhale. My gaze tracks the length of her tan, toned legs until I’m met with her bare feet, her toes painted a pale pink.

I feel a dry lump in my throat as I try to swallow. It feels like I’m trying to swallow down a heaping spoon of peanut butter as I attempt to mask my emotions…my pride.

It’s been so long since I’ve stood next to her. I can’t remember the last time I really looked at her.

“Everett,” Skylar repeats in a sharp tone, waving a hand in front of my face. Her cobalt eyes dart back and forth between mine, demanding my attention.

I tell myself that I’m not speechless at the sight of her standing before me. I convince myself that this is the way any heterosexual man would react to an attractive woman wearing nothing but sexy, silk pajamas. The delicate top outlines the peaks of her nipples, confirming that nothing is separating the thin piece of fabric from her golden skin.

---