Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

“I’ve always wanted a cat.” The admission is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Ever since I can remember.”

Nathan rolls his head toward me. “Yeah?”

I nod.

“Why didn’t you get one?” Nathan asks the obvious question.

Because my mom was allergic.

Because after my mom died, my dad would scream at me anytime I mentioned getting one.

Because even after my dad died, I wasn’t sure I’d be around to take care of it.

Because sometimes I still worry about my past catching up to me.

Because a part of me doesn’t feel like I deserve the unconditional love of a pet.

“Because I work too much.” Sadness drips from my words, and I clear my throat. “Speaking of…” I start to climb out of the bed. “I should get going.”

Honestly, I could sleep for a couple more hours and still get everything done on time. But I’d rather leave before the light of day.

It’ll be better that way.

Nathan lets out another yawn. “Alright. I’m up.”

Charles stands and comes over to weave between my feet.

“I’ll just order a ride. You don’t need to drive me. Go back to sleep.” I reach down and run my fingers down Charles’s back. His fur is so soft beneath my touch.

“No dice,” Nathan says with a stretch as he stands opposite the mattress from me. “You’re not getting a ride with a stranger at…” He glances at the clock. “Five in the morning.”

I do my best not to stare at the morning wood tenting his pants. “Nathan?—”

“Not budging on this, Rosie.” His tone is serious.

“Fine.” I widen my eyes at him. “Be unreasonable and start your day stupid early.”

He smirks. “Glad we agree.” He tips his head side to side, cracking his neck. “Just let me brush my teeth, then I’ll make us some coffee.”

I almost tell him I don’t need coffee, but that would be a giant lie.

I always need coffee. Now more than ever.

Charles lets out another loud cat shout and trots after Nathan, who is striding across the room.

They have a similar swagger, and as they disappear into the bathroom, I can’t recall ever seeing anything cuter.

I fully intend to use some of Nathan’s toothpaste when he’s done, but while he’s occupied, I’m going to hunt down my underwear.

Except when I circle the bed, I can’t find his pants anywhere. Or any of his clothes.

I know he threw them on the floor, same as I did when we first got here. But where my outfit is folded nicely on the dresser, his clothes are nowhere to be seen. Meaning my panties are gone with them.

I’d crouch to look under the bed, but I’m sure they’re not there. And the ache between my legs has pulsed with every movement I’ve made, reminding me exactly what we did last night. And crawling around on the floor isn’t going to help that.

Accepting my fate, I pick my clothes up with a frown. I’m really not looking forward to putting these pants on without underwear, but I’m not willing to ask Nathan if I can wear his clothes home.

Not only do I not want my neighbors to see me like this, but I also don’t want Nathan to feel obligated to see me again. And taking his clothes home would do just that.