The Player and the Pixie
Page 58

“Oh, yes. Please bring in the tray.” I stood back from the door, allowing the waiter to push it into the room.
Davies didn’t cross the threshold. Instead, as the waiter set up the service, he handed me a note and several boxes, all embossed with the hotel insignia.
“He left specific instructions that the room be kept for you as long as you like—a day, a week, a month—so please know we are at your service.”
These words were also gibberish, so I accepted the packages and note, nodded politely, and searched for my bag so I could give these fellas a tip. “Ah, okay. Thanks.”
Davies held up his hands as the server rolled the cart out of the room. “That won’t be necessary. Mr. Cassidy already took care of everything.”
“Um—”
“We were also careful to ensure none of your food came in contact with strawberries, as Mr. Cassidy explained you are allergic.”
“Oh.” My heart fluttered. He remembered.
“Enjoy your breakfast.” Davies reached forward and shut the door as I stumbled to the side, clutching the boxes and note to my chest.
I frowned at the items, the room eerily bright and quiet.
What just happened?
Blinking my eyes, finding them dry and crusty, I brought the card and boxes into focus.
Juggling the items, I ripped into the card first, devouring his script.
My lovely Lucy,
Thank you. For everything.
You are magnificent.
Now you have two people in all the world who will always be there for you.
Yours,
Sean
I read it maybe ten times, traced the neat, efficient letters with my fingertip. Raw, unmanageable emotion brought new tears to my eyes.
He was such a dunderhead; such a wonderful, sweet, funny, impossible, thoughtful, sexy eejit. I sniffled and opened the largest package first. It was full of clothes. Beneath were several pairs of sexy bras and knickers.
Didn’t buy me clothes my arse.
I set the large package aside and opened the next box with shaking fingers, gasping when I saw the item inside.
It was a pendant with white and black crystals against a silver-toned metal. Included was a silver-colored chain. A yin and yang pendant.
It was perfect and it would always remind me of him, of us.
I drifted over to the food and lifted the metal cover, finding a vegan feast of almond yogurt, fresh granola and fruit, three kinds of nuts, sprouted grain bread, and blackberry preserves.
Usually I’d devour this type of spread.
But today I put the cover back in place and claimed a chair in living room, right next to the spot where we’d had sex the night before. I closed my eyes at the memory, gathering several bracing breaths.
We.
Us.
Sean and I.
I hated that our lives existed in two very different worlds.
And I hated that he had to leave. Hate was a strong emotion, one I often tried to avoid, but there it was in all its ugly glory. Sean Cassidy had made me feel things, intense things, and far too many of them for that matter.
I thought about dressing quickly and going to the airport, just to see him off, just to say goodbye in person. But I cared too much. If I started getting all weepy and teary-eyed at the departure gate, then he’d know the growing depth of my feelings for him.
That couldn’t happen. It would be a big, fat mixed message, which wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
There was no Sean and me. No us. There never had been. Not really.
Yet for a moment last night—not while we were going at it against the wall or on the rug, but while we were lying in bed, touching, speaking of ourselves, sharing each other—it had felt possible.
***
My mantra over the next few weeks was distance was good.
Although it seemed like a small part of me was being torn away, distance was what we needed. It was for the best. Distance would make my heart grow less fond—I hoped.
Had he forgotten about me already? Moved on? Realized I wasn’t worth the effort? Found a new . . . teacher?
The questions had me feeling positively morose and it was so unlike me to get worked up over a man.
It was a full two weeks after he’d left that I received the first text message, the first morsel of communication between us after an endless sea of uncertain silence. I was waiting in line with some friends at a food truck event in Central Park when my phone buzzed.
Sean: Is it strange that every time I see a gay pride flag I think of you?
I snorted a laugh at the question, giddy as a school girl that he’d decided to make contact, my insides all aflutter. I excused myself, stepped out of the line, and immediately responded. Obviously, the distance hadn’t worked. Plus, I’d been wearing the yin and yang pendant. I’d been wearing it every day, touched that he’d gone to the trouble of buying me such a thoughtful gift.
Lucy: Not at all. Every time I see two spherical objects side by side I think of you.
Sean: ???
Lucy: Begins with a B, ends with an utt.
Sean: How obsessed we are with one another’s rear ends…
Lucy: I like to think it’s a healthy level of interest ;-)
Several minutes passed before I received anything else. When I did I chuckled, rolling my eyes at his brazenness.
Sean: If you send me a picture of yours, I’ll send you a picture of mine.
Lucy: Wow, you don’t care about the cloud at all, do you?
Sean: Nope, not when there are dozens of photos of me already floating around the Internet.
I frowned, recalling the images I’d seen of him online, taken by women he’d had one-night stands with. They’d posted them like they were trophies, something to be proud of, when really they should have been ashamed of themselves.