4.1 - Going Insane

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Easton

The weekend had gone by in a slow blur.

After leaving Patrick's on Saturday I went to my office in Maxwell Industries, determined to finish some of the piles of contracts my lawyer had left for me on Friday to sign. But that didn't happen, because my mind was still all-too-focused in Ava.

Her wavy, long, bright ginger hair. The way it never looked the same, as Ava would change it with every occasion, yet it was always never in place, becoming more disarranged within every passing hour, like it had a life of its own, but it fit her so perfectly. It was as vibrant as she was, so unlike every woman in the Upper East Side. But then again, so was she.

Her light and slightly reddish freckles that gathered mostly around her nose were scattered everywhere else that I had seen. Her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, her neckline, her arms, her legs. Becoming lighter and less pronounced, but I could see them all. And I wanted to kiss every single one of them.

Her big, ocean blue eyes that got darker in special occasions, one of them being when she gazed straight at me right before a light pink flush adorned her cheeks was one of my favorite things about her. I could tell I had an effect on her, and that alone had all kinds of effects on me. I couldn't count how many times my boxers felt tighter in the span of the three days I had seen her.

Hell, they were getting tighter at this second just from me thinking about it...

I cleared my throat, rubbed the back of my neck and resumed reading the contracts. I had to get it done then and I couldn't afford any distractions, no matter how welcomed they were.

When I was only two pages deep into the first contract, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Usually I'd ignore it, but this time I felt like I should look at it, as I was only carrying my personal phone with me that day and only two handful of people had that contact, making the odds slightly in my favor.

And surely enough, an unexpected, yet wished for message from my favorite redhead shone brightly on my screen.

I already had her number, so that morning all I did was give her mine, hoping she would reach out and put me out of my misery until Tuesday came.

I smiled widely and rubbed my chin, reading the message she had sent.

I'd let her crash in my penthouse any time she asked me to. I would even beg just to be able to have her there in my T-shirt, making a mess out of my kitchen, dancing and humming to songs I never heard of.

That was now my favorite memory in that penthouse. My sacred place, that until now had never been visited socially by a woman I was interested in.

'She's changing everything,' I thought to myself. And I wasn't wrong. She changed everything the second she stepped into that coffee shop ninety-six days ago.

I replied to her message and put the phone down on my desk, attempting - and still failing, as I kept looking at the phone in hopes of a response - to read more of the contract.

A few seconds later the phone buzzed again, and I shook my head while chuckling at the reply.

Ava
"I'm glad you liked them. Maybe next time I'll freeze some for you so that you can stop drinking those smelly shakes of yours..."

Part of me wanted to point out that she said next time like she was sure it was coming. Because I was sure, too. But I could tell she needed me to go slow, and I needed her any way I could have her. So I settled for a more laid back response.

Easton
"I'd like that, maybe I can teach you to burn scrambled eggs in return."

It was getting late, and I wasn't any closer to getting any work done.

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