Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4) (50 page)

I’m home with enough time to have another cup of coffee while I figure out what I want to wear to work and then get dressed. The weather is definitely starting to cool down, the morning in that weird temperature range that leaves me wondering if I need a jacket that I’ll likely ditch by the end of the day or not. I opt not to bring one, deeming my cardigan sufficient, and waste no time starting my car to get the heat going. As soon as I start the engine, Agatha makes a weird screeching noise that doesn’t sound good
at all
. It’s gone after a couple seconds, but I sit for a moment with a scrunched brow, staring at my dash as if giving her a warning look.

I don’t have time for car problems right now.

Luckily, it sounds perfectly fine after a minute idling, and I get to work with no trouble. I let myself into the gallery and find Andrew standing at the front reception desk with a pen in his mouth and a stack of papers in his hands. He’s not wearing his suit jacket, hinting at the fact that he’s probably been here for a little while already. I know he’s been putting in a lot of extra hours trying to get MTA’s first exhibition in the works for the end of next month. Geoffrey and I are helping in any way that we can, but this is Andy’s baby and he’s having a hard time
sharing
.

“Good morning, Andy,” I say in greeting, setting my things on top of my desk.

“Hey. Hi,” he mutters before spitting out his pen. “I’m sorry. Good morning. How are you, Teddy?”

“I’m great. How are you?”

“Good. Listen—could you make a few calls this morning? I’ve got a list here. They’re mostly just follow up.”

“Mmhmm,” I hum, sure that his brain is moving far too quickly to actually appreciate any sort of
real
answer. Sure enough, he walks away not a second later, talking to himself under his breath. It makes me laugh a little as I sit and survey my recently doled out to-do list.

I’m just beginning to wonder where Geoff is when I hear his voice. Whatever he says is followed by the response of Cameron, our delivery man, and I wonder what new pieces have arrived today. I decide I’ll go and look as soon as I’m done making my calls for Andy.

An hour later, after I’m off the phone, my plans are thwarted when a delivery man arrives with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. It’s full of shades of cream, dusty orange, and peach. My stomach fills with butterflies, knowing that they belong to me.

“I’m going to guess by that smile that you are Theodora Fitzpatrick?”

“Yup,” I reply with a nod, reaching for the vase.

“Have a good day, you hear?”

“You too.”

I sit back in my chair and admire the bouquet, feeling giddy as I’ve ever been. I saw the man this morning. I spent half of my weekend in his arms. This gift is certainly unexpected, and it makes me feel incredibly special. He’s still thinking of me, a reality I understand completely, and this proves it.

“Well, well, well—what do we have here?” asks Geoff as he occupies the seat next to me.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” I tease, plucking the little note from its holder. I extract the card from the envelope, a grin spreading across my face as I read his familiar script.

When Geoff snatches the note from my hand, I don’t stop him. He reads it quickly before looking at me with a single arched eyebrow.

“Does he not know how to send a text?”

“Oh, hush,” I insist, swiping my note back. “It’s romantic and you know it.”

“What does that even mean?
My girl Tuesday?
”

I sigh wistfully, thinking back on our morning when I practically begged to see him again before the weekend.

“It means that I get to see him again tomorrow.”

He gasps, smacking his hand down on the desk, making me jump.

“You sneaky, little bitch! Were you even going to tell me?”

“Geoff,” I cry, trying to fight my amusement. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Theodora Rose Fitzpatrick, you let that man pop your cherry—” He pauses abruptly, reconsidering his words. “
Metaphorically
speaking. If you don’t give me some details…” He pauses once more, clearly searching for a legitimate threat. I lift my eyebrows expectantly and he scoffs at me. “Just tell me
something
. I’m your best friend, dammit.”

I giggle, amused by his desperation for some gossip. “I told you. I’m a
lady
. I don’t kiss and tell,” I tease.

He studies me for a moment, folding his arms across his chest. “Did you come?”

I roll my lips into my mouth, hesitating for just a second before I offer him a nod.

“More than once?”

I nod again, a slight blush heating up my cheeks.

He narrows his eyes at me before he asks, “He was good to you, then?”

I shake my head emphatically. “
Better
. Way better than
good
.”

“All right,” he replies with a curt nod. “I’ve heard all I need to hear.”

Pulling my eyes away from him, I focus on my flowers, reaching up to trace the soft petals of one of the roses. “I’m really glad it was him, Geoff,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “It was perfect.”

“Then it was everything you deserve, baby girl.”

Waiting to see Judah until Tuesday was a little bit of a challenge after two nights in his bed. But then after Tuesday, he had to work late Wednesday and attend a work function in Denver on Thursday, and I didn’t get to see him until
Friday
. I missed him so much.

It seems silly. I know that he’s busy, that he has a schedule and routine—it’s been this way our entire relationship—but the closer we get to one another, and the harder I fall for him, the more difficult it is for me to go days on end without seeing him. Without touching him. Without kissing him. Even just being in the same room with him makes me feel
so
good.

I’m foolishly in love, and I love it.

I haven’t told him yet. As much as I feel for him, I’m afraid to say the words. I’m afraid of how he’ll receive them. It hasn’t been so long that I’ve forgotten that night he rescued me from the rain, the same night he told me his thoughts about
love
. He believes it’s a choice, a choice someone has to make every day. He
doesn’t
believe that someone is capable of making that same choice forever.

I might be younger than he is, and I’m definitely less experienced, but I’m not completely naïve, and I’m not stupid. A part of me agrees with him that
love
is a choice. When relationships are hard, when you’re in the middle of a fight, when things aren’t going exactly as you planned—
yes
, I believe you have to
choose
to
remember
and
embrace
your love. You have to choose to hang on to it and fight for it. But I don’t believe that falling in love with someone is a choice. When relationships are hard, when you’re in the middle of a fight, when things aren’t going exactly as you planned—
no
, you can’t stop the pain that plagues your heart because you love them. You can’t turn that off.

After what happened with Justin, my emotional pain—which lasted much longer than my physical pain—it hurt not just because rape is a fucking horrendous experience that breaks your body, your mind, and your soul—it also hurt because I loved him. I hated him. I hate him even now, but I couldn’t erase my love. Not exactly. I certainly didn’t love the boy who abused and abandoned me. But the guy I had spent nine months with? I
did
love him. I remembered him. I had to mourn the loss of
him
. That’s how I know that love is not as simple as just a choice you make. It’s way more complicated. It’s way more complex.

Now, as I lay in bed with Judah, his grey eyes locked with mine as if he’s
willing
me to crawl all the way out of my dream state, all I want to do is tell him that I love him. I’m afraid he won’t believe me; that he won’t understand that it’s not a decision I made, but a feeling that I’ve simply chosen to embrace. But more than anything, I’m afraid of what he’ll do with it if he
does
believe me. Will it scare him away? Will he laugh at me? Will he ever repeat the words back to me?

“Wake up, sweetheart. You’re supposed to be on the road in an hour.”

I free a groggy groan, tucking my body further into his, wishing we could stay in bed a while longer, wondering why I insisted he wake me before the sun was high in the sky.

“What time is it?”

“Seven,” he answers, grazing a hand down my back.

His touch sends tingles up my spine, making it even more impossible to think about getting out of bed.

“Tell me,” he begins to say, his sexy morning voice rumbling from his chest. “What time is
not
too early for you?”

I’ve never spoken to him so soon after he’s woken up. Makes me think I should wake up with him more often. “Eight,” I reply. “Eight is good. Eight is fair. Eight makes me not want to throw my beeping phone across the room.”

“Well, you can’t throw me,” he says, smacking my ass. “Up. I won’t say it again.”

As soon as he speaks the words, he rolls away from me, climbing out of bed. I sigh sadly, instantly missing his warmth. Then I, too, get out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom.

We brush our teeth together, saying nothing as we exchange glances in the mirror—in between his not-so-subtle peeks at my bare chest. When I’m finished, I start for the shower while he closes himself into his little toilet room. I’m just starting to soak my hair under the hot spray of the water above me when he comes out, walking straight for the second shower head. I wipe the excess water from my face as I look at him in confusion. We’ve never shared a shower before—and right now, I know we don’t have the time.

“Jude?”

“Teddy?”

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a shower,” he deadpans.

“But—” My breath catches in my throat when my eyes drift down and I catch a glimpse of his erection. I also notice the condom he’s got tucked between his fingers. “I have to leave in less than an hour.”

“Oh, you’re concerned about this?” he asks with a smirk, holding up the little square package. “This is just in case.” I watch as he stows it away between his shampoo and body wash, propped up in his hanging shower caddy.

“Just in case what?”

“In case you can’t resist me.”

My mouth falls open as he grins, winks, and turns his back to me. For a second, I’m appalled that he thinks I have that little self-control—but then he starts soaping himself down. With his hands—his big hands, with those long fingers that feel amazing no matter where they are on my body. Watching the muscles in his back move as he uses his arms reminds me of just how strong he is, and how good it feels to be at the mercy of his hard body…his hard…
body
.

I’m still standing under the hot water, but my nipples have grown hard and my skin is covered in goose bumps. I don’t realize that the small whimper I hear has come from my mouth until he turns and looks at me from over his shoulder.

“Did you need something, sweetheart?”

The wicked smile on his face is all the more alluring with the dark stubble that covers his jaw. I wish he would have shaved before he got in the shower with me. Maybe then, I would have been able to resist him.