Thankfully, at that exact moment, the flight attendant stops in front of our row with the cart of beverages, preventing a rebuttal from Juls and myself. “Would anyone like anything?”
“Liquor,” we all answer simultaneously. The flight attendant smiles and hands out mini-bottles of vodka which none of us waste any time in downing.
“All cell phones off, please. We’re about to take off.”
Everyone reaches into their pockets and messes with their phones. I notice the text message on my screen and open it with the same nervous excitement I always have when I see his name.
Reese: Eight more days, love. Get your ass here already.
Me: Hurrying. And you can do better than eight more days. Put that brain to work, handsome.
I power off my phone and tuck it away, relaxing against my seat. Eight more days that can’t get here soon enough.
“Holy Hell. This place is fabulous.”
I hear Joey’s voice register somewhere in the house as I make my way upstairs toward the bedrooms. He isn’t lying, though; this place is fabulous. My man did well. It looks like a civil war-era mansion from the outside, and the inside is very rustic and warm. The kitchen and living area are downstairs, both spacious and lovely, and the house is equipped with three bedrooms. I open the first door I come to and notice the brown, worn-leather luggage on the bed that screams Ian in every way.
“Juls, your room is the one on the right,” I yell over my shoulder toward the stairs. She’s probably too busy moderating downstairs to even hear me at the moment, but I give her a heads-up anyway.
I open the room across the hall and am immediately hit in the face with my favorite smell in the world. Reese has probably only spent a limited amount of time in here, considering he and Ian had to meet with the client shortly after arriving earlier today, but his scent is already saturating the space we’ll share for the next two days. And I couldn’t be happier about that.
I drop my suitcase next to his on the floor by the dresser and spot his iPod laying on one of the pillows on the bed. A tiny brown card is next to it. I crawl up the length of the bed and grab the iPod, setting it on my stomach as I open the familiar card.
Dylan,
64,863 seconds. (Give or take a few depending on when you read this note.)
X, Reese
P.S. Listen.
I can’t help the ridiculous smile that spreads across my face; I never can. It’s always been like this, and I know it’ll always be like this. No matter how many notes he leaves me or deliveries he sends me, I’ll never lose that wild excitement I feel at even the smallest gesture. I grab the ear buds and pop them into my ears. After turning on the iPod, I scroll to the songs, expecting to find a huge playlist because I know this is the iPod Reese takes with him when he goes to the gym. But there’s only one song on it, so I conclude he must have erased all his other music specifically for this moment. I close my eyes and let the music fill my ears, concentrating on the lyrics just like I did the first time he played this song for me. I think every time Reese and I have sex, it’s always some form of making love, even when it’s rough and urgent. But he only reserved this song for that first time.
The bed dips by my feet, prompting me to peek one eye open as I listen to “Look After You” for the second time. Joey joins me by my side and steals one of my ear buds and the card I’m holding to my chest.
I study his face as he places the bud in his ear and reads my note. He frowns, hands the note back over, and lets his head fall on the pillow next to me. “That man of yours makes every other guy in Chicago look bad. Especially mine.”
I elbow his side, seeing him smile through a silent ‘ouch’, and turn the song down so it’s playing softly for both of us. “Billy does a ton of romantic stuff for you. He asked you to move in with him after only knowing you a little over a week, and he worships the ground your pretty feet walk on. He’d do anything for you; you know that.”
“Then why hasn’t he asked me to marry him?”
I open my mouth to speak but shut it almost instantly. I honestly don’t know the answer to that question. I’ve wondered it myself, especially lately with all my wedding planning going on. Billy is perfect for Joey. He keeps him grounded but also brings out the playful side in him that I completely adore. I love seeing them together; I’ve never seen my dear assistant this happy before with anyone. But maybe Billy isn’t the marrying type.
“Have you two talked about it? Getting married?”
He plucks the ear bud out, seemingly done with the love song that is probably fueling his irritation. I do the same and wrap them around Reese’s iPod before turning on my side and facing Joey.
“Sort of. He said he could see himself getting married someday, but he didn’t name drop and say with me.”
“Well, maybe he’s waiting for you to ask him.”