Kiss and Don't Tell(125)
He winks at me. “Be right back. We love you.”
I smile and wave as they head out the door. I sit back on the armrest of the couch and then stare at my phone.
Do I call him?
Too nervous, but wanting to tell him, I send him a text.
Winnie: Hope I’m not bothering you, but I thought I’d just tell you that I got the job.
I press send and clutch my phone, only for it to immediately buzz with a phone call.
Pacey.
Unable to control my smile, I answer the phone. “Hello?”
“A text? You’re going to tell me that fucking fantastic news through a text? Winnie, holy shit, this is amazing.”
And just like that, tears well in my eyes, because I can hear true excitement in his voice. Pride.
“Thank you. I’m really excited.”
“As you should be. Please tell me Max and Katherine are celebrating with you tonight.”
“Yes, they’re currently on their way to get tacos, dessert, and tequila for margaritas.”
“Good. Wow, this is incredible. I’m really happy for you, Winnie. Proud.”
“Thank you, Pacey.”
He sighs and I can tell he wants to say something but he stays silent.
“What is it?” I ask, curious as to what he’s holding back.
“Nothing, just . . . hell. I just wish I was there to give you a hug. But I’m glad you have Katherine and Max. Have fun celebrating. You deserve it.” His voice has a distinct sadness to it and it makes me think that he honestly wishes he was here. Who am I kidding? Of course he does. He’s never led me to believe otherwise about his intentions. He’s always been upfront, honest, which makes me feel like a fool for reacting the way I did.
Taking a giant leap in—well, whatever this is, I say, “I wish you were here too, Pacey.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
PACEY
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Posey asks, walking into my bedroom.
Ever since they decided to stay in Vancouver with me, the boys have been rotating staying at my place. I prefer when Holmes is here because he doesn’t say a goddamn thing—yes, he’s taking in my every movement, but he stays silent and reads his books. Posey, on the other hand, he’s in my goddamn business every second of every day.
At one point, when I went to the bathroom, he asked what I was doing, and I told him I was relieving myself and asked if he wanted to hold my dick for me while I did that.
Right now is no exception.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask while packing a bag.
“Uh, it looks like you’re going to go somewhere, and if I were to guess, you’re going to Seattle.”
Sighing, I turn to Posey and say, “She got a job, dude. I want to congratulate her.”
Posey shakes his head. “That’s not part of the plan. It’s too soon.”
“I’m just going to say congrats, give her a hug—”
“No.” Posey rips the suitcase off the bed and throws it to the floor, scattering my things to the ground.
I point at the discarded bag. “Was that really necessary?”
“To prove a point, yes.” He approaches me. “Listen, I know you’re eager to see her, you want to congratulate her, but it’s too soon still.”
“Says who?” I ask, my patience wearing thin today.
“Do I need to FaceTime the guys?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Okay, then. Instead of driving down to see her, what can you do instead?”
“Send her something to congratulate her,” I say in an annoyed voice.
“Precisely.” Posey holds up his finger. “Remember, we’re establishing a friendship, getting to know her again, taking it slow. Build up the anticipation, the need. Patience, Lawes, we need patience.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one having to be patient.” I flop back on my bed.
“Uh, pretty sure I have blue balls for a happily ever after, here. You’re not the only one suffering. I need this to be over and done with as much as you. That’s why we need to do it right the first time and not go through this shit again. Got it?”
I give him a once-over. “Where did the attitude come from?”
He places his hands on his hips and says, “Fudge withdrawals.” Taking a deep breath, he points to my phone and says, “Start ordering something. Make it good.”
Frustrated, even though he’s right, I pick up my phone and get to work.
“Feeling good?” Doc asks.
“Feeling good,” I answer as I lie on one of the training tables, icing my neck after an intense ART session.
“Glad to hear it. When the timer goes off, you’re free to leave. Take it easy today, no lifting, and try to keep off devices unless you can hold them at eye level. I don’t want you straining today.”
“Got it,” I say as he pats my table and heads to his office.
As I stare at the ceiling, I think about the upcoming season, wondering if all this therapy is going to help. Hell, I haven’t had a migraine since I started therapy, which is good. Just minor headaches here and there from irritating the muscles and moving them around, loosening them up, which is a given. But a headache is a cakewalk compared to the migraines.