He told me he loved me.
Of course I was naked, half asleep, and he was leaving, but he told me he loved me. Was in love with me.
How perfect was that since we’re so far from perfect anyway?
He told me he loved me and I didn’t spook.
For a girl who’s shied away from those emotions her whole life, to hear those three words and feel like I’m walking on air instead of wanting to run, is a pretty crazy about face.
But I’m in his bed, surrounded by his scent, and I know it’s going to take everything I have to leave it, knowing I won’t see him again for a while. I roll over and am met with my cell phone next to me. Odd. I know there’s no way I left it there. When I reach for it, there is a Post-It note on its screen. All it says is “Listen to me.”
I scramble to sit up, eager to hear the message like a ridiculous schoolgirl waiting for her crush to call.
“Good morning,” Easton’s voice comes through the speaker in that rough grit of his that has me closing my eyes and missing him already, although it has only been a few hours since he left. “Grab my shirt. Put it on. And then listen to your next message.”
With a smile on my lips, I frantically look around the room for his shirt only to notice it’s actually on the pillow beside my head. I laugh to the empty room as I pick it up, bring it to my nose and breathe him in before putting it on.
“First things first, Kitty. I left something for you on my favorite spot in the kitchen.”
I’m out of the bed, racing down the hallway to the kitchen island, my mind thinking back to last week when he was making us grilled-cheese sandwiches for dinner. How I hopped up on the counter to watch and before I knew it, my thighs were parted, his tongue was working me into a frenzy, and the sandwiches ended up burned to a crisp.
Best grilled cheese I’ve ever not eaten.
When I reach the kitchen, there’s a calendar on top of the counter. It takes me a minute to figure out what I am looking at. In his scrawled chicken scratch, Easton has marked the days of the month through to the end of the season with a D for Wrangler’s games and an A for Aces games.
“See the orange circles,” he says in the message. “Those are the days we get to see each other, whether we’re in passing cities or we have a day or two off. I’m staking a claim so you don’t decide to hang out with your other boyfriends on those dates.” I know he’s joking, but my head is shaking back and forth like he’s crazy. “Next clue: The first time you ever came to my apartment, how was it I finally got you to come here?”
I stand with my hands on my hips for a second as I look toward the glass wall of windows and then realize what he’s referring to. The bathroom. I jog to the guest bathroom in the foyer and laugh at what I see there. On the counter is a CD case. It’s an audiobook. Stephen King’s The Last Gunslinger.
“If I’m stuck listening to whatever romance book this is that you uploaded to my iPod, then you have to listen to my kind of book too. Besides, those plane flights to and from cities can be boring and the last thing you want to do is talk to Tino and Drew. I plead the fifth to anything they say about me . . . so listen to this book instead. I’ll be giving you a test, and you’re going to want the reward for getting all the answers right.” My smile couldn’t grow any wider if I tried. I pick up the set of CDs and listen to the rest of the message. “What’s the one place you couldn’t wait to see? I believe I had to fight to kiss you because you wouldn’t shut up about it.”
Right now, I’m going to kiss you senseless, Scout, and I want to fucking enjoy it. So, for the love of God, woman, use those lips of yours on me and not on words.
I’m on the elevator in a flash, the car descending to the private field down below. When the doors open, I’m hesitant to step off it. It feels strange being here without Easton. This is his place. His solace. And yet curiosity gets the best of me.
I flick on the lights and begin to walk around, looking for the next item. It takes me a second to see the Mason jar on home plate. When I pick it up, all I can do is shake my head at the dozens of Wint O Green Life Savers inside it.
“There’s one Life Saver for every day left until the season ends. Our own little countdown of sorts. Plus I threw a few extra in there in case one of our teams makes it to the playoffs. When you suck on it, think of me.” His chuckle is deep and suggestive. “And finally, where is the one place I stood, looked at you with the stadium lights in your hair and knew there was no turning back when it came to you?” I make a face at the phone. “Don’t roll your eyes, Kitty. Think about when you stood there and got me like no one else ever had.”
Excited, I get on the elevator to head to the wall of windows where Easton and I first realized there might be more between us than passing lust. When I get there, I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I stare at the empty stadium below, mesmerized for a moment as I recall that first night: the linking of our pinkies; the darkened apartment and stadium-lit sky; the feeling of being understood.
It takes me a moment to see a key ring with a key on it sitting at the base of the window. Uncertain how this makes me feel, I stare at it for a moment as I try to comprehend what he’s giving me. What he’s saying to me. Because yes, he offered it the other day . . . but that was before everything, and now there it is—a new and shiny and silver key to his house attached to an Austin Aces keychain.
I pick up the phone and laugh at myself and my trembling fingers as I dial up the next voicemail. “I know right now you’re probably standing there wondering if you should be spooked or not. Thinking you might have said the words but this makes things real—it makes us real—and that part freaks you out. I didn’t go to bed last night, Scout. I sat and watched you sleep and wondered how this was going to work out. How with two crazy schedules and being in different cities was going to work for us . . . But it’s going to. So take this key. Use it. Don’t use it. But know it’s there for you. The closet is half-empty for you. The drawers. The everything. And while you’re hyperventilating, know this . . . I’ve never met anyone like you, Scout. You challenge me. You make me laugh. You encourage me. But more than anything you get me. My need for this game that I love as much as I hate. How I love my parents even when I feel like the strings I still have tied to them are strangling me. How a picnic on a hill watching a Little League game where we root for strangers is what I need sometimes. So when you get scared, when you wonder how any of this is going to work, remember that I left you a key because I plan on coming home to you. Did you hear that? I plan on coming home . . .”
Every part of my body is covered in chills when the message ends. I just stand there looking at the key on the silly keychain with tears blurring my eyes and push replay again.
And again.