chatting with Brooke, to sneaking around in the city, to seeing Alec, and then ending at Alec’s cryptic smirk.
That damn smirk.
What was the thought behind it?
I replay it over and over in my head. The way he looked at me, the way he smiled. I then go back to our phone call before I decided to go see him. I could tell by the concern in his voice that he didn’t want to make me feel uncomfortable with the fact that he would be fucking random women tonight.
But then that look in his eye and that damn smirk . . . I can’t stop thinking about it.
I grow even more restless the more I allow my mind to fester over all this. I reach for my phone on my nightstand and flick the switch to silence it. Looking over my shoulder, I see Landon has rolled over with his back facing me. His breaths are slow and deep as he sleeps, and when I roll back over, I cautiously type out my text and send it to Alec.
Me: Are you awake?
Staring at the screen, it eventually fades to black, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s still at the party. If he’s having sex while his phone is buzzing from the pocket of his pants that are lying on the floor. But I wonder no more when my phone lights up with a text from him, reviving me instantly.
Alec: Why are you up so late?
Me: Can’t sleep.
I wonder who’s going to be the first to mention the elephant in the room, and when he doesn’t message me back, I bite the bullet.
Me: I’m sorry about tonight.
Alec: Sorry? For what?
Is he really going to torture me by making me spell it out for him? Can’t we both be coy, acknowledge my idiocy, and move on, never making a mention of it again?
Me: For coming to see you.
Alec: Tell me why you came.
In my exhaustion, lying in the warmth of my bed where I had two orgasms with him earlier, I throw the lies out the window and confess.
Me: I guess I wanted to know you were real.
Alec: I’m not real to you?
Me: You are now.
Alec: I’ve always been real, Victoria.
Landon shifts, and I turn around to make sure he’s still asleep before returning to my phone.
Me: Can I ask you something?
Alec: Anything.
Me: You saw me watching you and you gave me a look . . . a smirk. Why?
Alec: Because you came to me.
My eyes absorb those five words until they swim out of focus and the pang I felt earlier returns.
Alec: Come to me again.
Me: It’s late. And I’m nervous.
Alec: I’ll wait then. I don’t want you to be scared with me.
Me: You’re just so different than what I’m used to.
Alec: And how do you think I feel? You’re nothing like what I’m used to either. Your views, your modesty, your resistance, your values. I share your same hesitations.
Me: I guess I never saw it from your standpoint.
Alec: Let’s talk more tomorrow. It’s late and you need to sleep.
Me: Good night.
Alec: Good night, Victoria.
Setting my phone back on my nightstand, I close my eyes, but sleep refuses to find me as I wonder what it is I’m doing with this game I’ve created with Alec.
Brooke and I pile into the back of her husband’s Escalade with the kids. It’s a tradition with our two families that we visit the Belkin Family Farm at the peak of autumn every year. Landon was the first to bring me here back when we were dating, and I fell in love with it. It wasn’t until Brooke and Chris had their son that we all started going together.
The three kids situate themselves in the very back while Brooke and I buckle into the second row bucket seats. The guys are up front, chatting about the New England Patriots game last week, oblivious to the mayhem of laughter as Emily and Jill play with Ryder. We head south, and the drive takes a little over a half-hour before we arrive at the 180-acre farm, which boasts train rides, hay pyramids, farm animals, mazes, hay rides, face painting, and more. It’s enough to keep the kids entertained for the whole day, but the main reason for our visits each year is the apple, pear, and pumpkin picking.
“You have no idea how good it feels to finally have a day off,” Landon tells me as we walk hand in hand.