Before Thirty

Alternate POV - Gwen - Chapter 28

When I wake up to find Blake gone yet again, I stare at the hotel ceiling for a beat, trying to remember if he always got up this early. Truthfully, I don't know. Until we started sleeping in the same bed, I never worried about Blake's comings and goings. If I got up and he was gone, I'd draw until he returned, and if I got up and he was already back, we'd plan our day.

Even though I know he has these obsessive routines, like running first thing in the morning, I can't help worrying that his early start times are because I'm in his bed. I'd feel a lot more confident in one direction or another if I'd paid better attention when we weren't sleeping together. And I can't decide whether asking if he'd prefer we slept separately makes me look strong or insecure. Both? Is that possible? When in doubt, assume the one you wouldn't want to appear as.

I'm not insecure.

To prove it, I get out my sketchbook, and I add two more panels to the section I've titled, Before Thirty. Once I've outlined the bones of the panels and captioned them to my satisfaction, I set the book on the nightstand. The fine details can come later.

Since Blake discovered himself naked and starring in my sex fueled sketches, he hasn't touched either of my books. Part of me is relieved, and part of me is a bit sad. We used to have a lot of fun discussing the different ways we saw our time together—his more analytical and mine more creative. 

Before I get in the shower, I pull up the Doctors International website again and check their vacancies. The one I've had my eye on closes in a week. I already redid my resume to fit the job, but I haven't applied. Would Blake hate me for it, or would he be happy? The post doesn't even indicate where I'd be located, so we might not even be close to each other. I should probably ask him more questions about the company before I apply on a whim. That's the smart thing to do.

After my shower, I head to the continental breakfast where my oatmeal awaits. I've just taken a seat at a table, when I spot Blake coming in the door, drenched in sweat. My heart kicks in my chest. There is no sight in the world more beautiful than him. I give him an enthusiastic wave to draw his attention before abandoning my breakfast. Once I'm close enough, I throw my arms around his neck and try to ignore how wet and sweaty he is. He dips his head and nuzzles my neck, his lips skimming along the hollow. A shiver of delight races through me.

"Every morning when I wake up and find you gone, I think I should try running again." Not true. I'm not really into that kind of torture, but I am that into him.

He doesn't say anything, but squeezes me a little tighter, and the press of his lip against my neck is a little firmer. He'd never tell me I'm a terrible runner, but we both know the truth. I could not keep up with him, even if I drank ten energy drinks in a row before we left. As a doctor, that is also a scenario he likely wouldn't approve of.

"Peggy's Cove today?" I ask, creating enough space between us that I can brush his increasingly long hair off his cheeks. I would not be able to exercise with my hair all over my face like that.

"Shower. Eat. Then we'll go," he says, trying to peel his wet shirt off his chest.

"I'll bring some food up the room for you when I'm done." I give him a quick peck on the cheek and hurry back to my table. Blake coming out of the shower is my favorite sight. I cannot get enough of him.

When I'm done my oatmeal, I double plate the floppy Styrofoam ones the hotel uses, and I pile it high with eggs, bacon, home fries, and toast before getting Blake a cup of coffee the way he likes too.

At the hotel room door, I have to set down his coffee before I can open the door, and I keep it wedged with my foot while I balance all the pieces to keep them from falling. There is a good possibility he'll be eating his food off the floor.