Coming Home (Whiskey Men) by Hope Ford

Author:Hope Ford [Ford, Hope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Hudson

“Send me a picture.”

I hit send on the text and stare at my phone in silence. I’m at the Blaze offices in the conference room. I’m here working on the computer because I’m trying to distance myself from Ellie. It’s either that or I’m going to take her into my bedroom and not let her up until she screams for mercy.

It’s amazing to me what she’s accomplished in the last two weeks. The bedroom and the living room are done, and what she’s turned them into is pretty amazing. We spend most afternoons working side by side, me moving the furniture or helping her put things together and her telling me where things go. In the evenings, we have dinner together, watch television, go to visit my brothers, or just sit around and talk.

But being this close to her and not being able to touch her is driving me slowly insane.

I rub my hand through my beard because I feel just a smidge guilty. If she knew that I was still sleeping on the pad on the floor, she wouldn’t be happy. She’d blame herself and be convinced that I don’t like the bed she got, but in fact, it’s perfect. I’m not sure what is going on in my head right now, but every time I lie down on the soft bed, all I can think about is the past and my time in the Army. Men that didn’t come home surround my thoughts, and I can’t sleep. It’s almost as if I feel like I don’t deserve to sleep in a plush bed with sheets and a thick blanket.

I open my phone, wondering if she’s read my text and see bubbles that she’s typing something.

I stare at it impatiently.

“What is it with you and wanting a picture all the time?”

I’m smiling as I type the words. “It’s not all the time.”

She sends an eye rolling emoji. “Only every time we’re not together.”

“Maybe I just want to see your pretty face.” I no sooner finish typing it than I delete it. Flirting with her is not distancing myself. I want more, but I need her to trust me first. So I type something else. “Maybe I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

She doesn’t respond, and I send another text. This time, I try to be nicer about it. “Send me a picture, please.”

A few minutes go by, and finally I get the picture. As soon as I open it, I can’t look away. Her smile is shy, but her eyes are lit up, telling me she knows how this picture will affect me. I take it all in. The curve of her neck, the way her lips curl up with her smile, the blue of her eyes, and the stories hidden behind their depths. I could look at her all day, but my phone pings with another text from her.

“Your turn. Pay up. I want a picture of you.”

I sit up a little straighter. All the times I’ve asked her for pictures, she’s never asked me for one.

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