You're Magic

Pete comes home at 12:07 that afternoon bearing coffee. I end up telling him about my conversation with Patrick because he knows something's bothering me. He tells me the same thing Patrick did; they love me too much to be angry. But I feel like Pete has every reason to be angry at me, and not just for leaving. He knows that I've always had a deep rooted love for Patrick that he could never take away, and sometimes I would wonder if it bothered him.

"Well does it?" I ask, sitting up in bed as he hands me my cup of coffee. He sits on the edge of the bed beside me with a sigh.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I know that's a shitty answer, but I don't know."

"Okay," is all I say in response. I'm visibly frustrated by his answer. How am I supposed to make things better if I don't even know how he feels? His eyes catch mine and he smiles.

"Hey, don't be so down, okay? Everything's okay." He leans forward to press his lips to mine, and for a brief moment I forget about everything int he world.

I walk around on my foot for a little while despite Pete's protests. I can do it, but it hurts. After a while of getting chores done way too slowly for his liking, Pete tells me to sit down and watch TV while he cleans.

"I'm leaving on Saturday night," he tells me after a while. That gives me three more days. "Unless you need me to stay because of your foot." Pete walks into the living room and hands me a plate with grilled cheese and baby carrots. I smile and pick at the sandwich, distracted by thoughts of Pete leaving. I want to ask him to stay another week, but I know it's not fair to Bronx or Patrick or Ashlee or anyone else so I don't say anything. Pete sits beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders before chomping on a baby carrot. "Eat a little something please," he says after a while of watching me pick at my food.

"I'm not hungry."

"Just eat the carrots then, yeah?" Pete takes the grilled cheese and eats it and coaxes me to eat carrots even though I don't want them. I get up and have a glass of cranberry/orange juice and Pete joins me in the kitchen, taking a sip from the glass. He can tell I'm upset by the way I'm acting, and I know he's doing everything to make me feel better.

His arms wrap around my hips and he kisses where my neck and right shoulder meet. He whispers "I love you," but I kiss him before he gets it out completely. I start nudging him upstairs and every few feet he stops to kiss me, but I keep pushing him.

We leave our clothes pooled by the bed and Pete's mouth trails along my neck. He pushes my hair from my face and the way his fingers curl around my hips gives me butterflies like every other time.

When Pete whispers my name in that low, slow, gravely voice I lose it and the way he ducks his head into the crook of my neck and how his hot breath glides against my skin drives me mad. Our breathing is harsh and jagged and Pete just smiles. He kisses me and it's slow and lazy. "Do you wanna grab some dinner?" He asks during our post-sex snuggle. I glance at my alarm clock, indicating it's 5:34 PM. I snuggle closer into his side and shake my head.

"After we cuddle." I don't know how he's already thinking of food but it's not something I want to get particularly angry about so I let it drop and hope that he hasn't spent the past hour and a half thinking about pizza or something. My ankle is throbbing, still wrapped neatly in an ace bandage. I haven't removed the fabric all day in fears of seeing how bad the damage is.

By 6:37 PM it's inevitable that my stomach is growling and I need food so Pete and I shower and put on pajamas before deciding on having macaroni and cheese for dinner. We watch Aladdin and Beauty and the Beast on ABC Family. I find my phone half under the couch and try to reach for it without Pete noticing.

evelynmarie: @petewentz be my prince charming

Pete's Blackberry starts vibrating in his pocket and he laughs quietly as he reads the text. He kisses my forehead and he starts telling me how much he loves me and how he can't wait until we live together in L.A. and I can be Mrs. Wentz and we can wake up together every day, even if it takes years to happy. He says he's okay with it because he knows he can wait. It makes me happy to hear him say that and sad at the same time because I sort of feel like I can't give that back to him, and I'm not one for taking without giving back. Pete combs his fingers through my hair and he keeps talking about how I can be a journalist in California instead and that I'll like the weather much better. He says we'll give Bronx brothers and sisters and we can go on vacations and have houses wherever I want. He says I won't have to work at all if it's what I want. Pete says we can have anything I want.

I look up at him and kiss his mouth. "The only thing I really want is you, okay?" I smile.

"That's not a very good thing to want. I could give you much better than me."

I roll my eyes and tuck my head under Pete's chin. "I don't want anything else, thanks though," I mumble and my tone ends the conversation.

I go to work on Thursday after a visit to the doctor where I'm given a monstrous walking cast, which Pete makes fun of me for. Pete takes me out for lunch before my half day at work, where paparazzi snap pictures of us roaming the New York streets.

"I miss Chicago," Pete sighs, holding my hand tighter. "You had to pick New York, huh?" He sounds at least partly serious, but laughs regardless. I drop Pete off back at my place after he insists he'll stay occupied, saying he'll get caught up on blogging or editing Rainy Days Kids or whatever. I tell him all right and promise to take him out for dinner. I kiss him on the forehead before leaving him to go to work.

I open my briefcase to one of my hot pink sticky notes stuck to the inside, with words in Pete's handwriting scrawled across.

New York eyes, Chicago thighs.

I laugh a little, deciding to keep the note there. I don't know when he had time to stick that there, but I'm sure it's from his comment about me moving to New York earlier in the day. After a few hours my phone begins buzzing off the hook with texts from Pete.

I love youuu.

Evelyn Wentz has a nice ring to it even if the initials EW are kinda weird.

Come to bed with me

You make my head spin.

I miss you

Those are some of the many texts that I get while trying to write a followup on the meeting I had two days ago. I reply: Stop texting me at work or I'll file harassment

He shoots back a second later, We're practically engaged and you're going to charge me with harassment?

I snort out loud, Yup, actually. It's hard to believe, but practically engaged and engaged aren't the same thing, Wentz. I can't stop smiling to myself.

Semantics, future Mrs. Wentz

Give us a couple years though, yeah? I say, turning the conversation slightly more serious.

Yeah, babe. Get back to work.

I send him a playful text saying sure thing but he never responds which worries me a little. When I get home he seems fine, though, so I don't let it get to me.

When we go out for dinner we don't drink, which is sort of a shocker. We come home and end up fucking but it's not a heated, lust crazed episode or anything. It honestly starts as an innocent exploration when I begin unbuttoning Pete's shirt and I allow myself to explore the planes of his chest and then he whispers, "Let me look at you," as he pulls my shirt over my head. The sex isn't wild and hot and dirty or anything, but it's nice and I'm pleasantly exhausted.

Pete's laying beside me with his eyes shut, hands behind his head. His breathing is shallow and quick, but slows with each passing second. I let my fingers run across his chest and stomach where his muscles tense, but he doesn't open his eyes. I trace circles against his hip with my pinky and rest my chin on his chest. He's thinking about something. "What are you thinking?" I whisper, dragging my fingers up his side, across his chest, up his neck, behind his ear and then down to his shoulder. He shivers but he doesn't answer. My fingers run down his arm to his hand and I hold it in mine. "Pete," I whisper his name, quiet.

"Hm?" He hums from the back of his throat, keeping his eyes closed. I know he heard me perfectly well but I say it again anyway.

"What're you thinking?" I repeat. I get chills as he starts running his fingers down my spine to the small of my back.

He lets out a breath through pursed lips and his eyes open, his brows furrowing. He shakes his head once before letting it fall back on the pillows.

"Peter."

"When you said give us a couple years, was that a promise or was that you saying it's never going to happen because I thought... I don't know what I thought." His voice is quiet and sort of rushed. I think about it for a second.

"Well, yeah, Pete. It was a promise." I nod and he opens his eyes again to look at me.

"Okay." He presses a quiet kiss to my mouth, his teeth grazing my bottom lip.

"It'll be here before you know it," I assure him. He laughs just a little and rests his hand on my hip.

"I'm so in love with you," he whispers before he shuts his eyes again. I smile and rest my head on his shoulder. For some reason saying I'm in love with you is always better than saying I love you.