About the Book
Winter Break by Andrea Johnston I never believed in labels or defining a relationship. At least, until Madsen Secksin crawled into my bed. Blinding me with his movie star good looks, perfect words, and forever promises I never stood a chance. Winter Break: The promise of new beginnings and forever kinds of love.
Cover Designer: Uplifting Designs
Published on December 21, 2017
But as we head into the world, starting our careers, and creating our lives, I wonder if I took too long - too long to find love and too long to start believing in labels.
While my heart walks the streets of Manhattan, I brave the sandy beaches of Santa Cruz. Alone.
Perseverance and determination. Both should be my middle name. Waiting for Phoebe Stromberg to declare her feelings and accept the label of “girlfriend” required both. Three thousand miles separates us, but I’ve never loved or missed her more.
It may take an entire Winter’s Break to shorten the miles between us, but I know we can get there. Together.
I never believed in labels or defining a relationship. At least, until Madsen Secksin crawled into my bed. Blinding me with his movie star good looks, perfect words, and forever promises I never stood a chance.
Winter Break: The promise of new beginnings and forever kinds of love.
“All, everything that I understand, I only understand because I love.” — Leo Tolstoy
I realize these pod coffee brewers are supposed to make life easier, and in many ways they do. But standing here, waiting for the first cup to brew, that isn’t the case. As the machine sputters to a stop and the final drops of coffee fill my cup, I pull my messenger bag across my chest and fasten the top to my travel mug before exiting my apartment.
Once I’ve made it down the stairs to the main entrance to the building, I step out onto the street, careful not to walk in the path of any other commuters. Stopping to pull the front door closed, I tug to make sure it’s secure. With the rent apartments in this neighborhood go for, you’d think the door to the building would close on its own. I don’t complain much about the little quirks of the building and the apartment. Sure, I wish the door closed and the clogged drain didn’t fill the tub every time I took a shower. But, I count my blessings to be living in New York City, only walking distance from some of the best parts of the city.
When I accepted the position with Weltz Pharmaceuticals, I assumed I’d be commuting from Jersey at the very least. But, as luck would have it, the company holds several apartments here in the city for its staff. Truly I think they offer us a huge discount on the rent, so they can pay us less. If I didn’t have this apartment and the discounted rent, my salary would be significantly higher. The convenience of not having such a long commute is worth the difference in pay. For now, anyway.
Securing my earbuds, I turn on my music and begin my short walk to the subway. By the time I stop at the second light, my coffee has cooled enough for my first sip. My mornings are borderline boring and predictable. Okay, not so much borderline as they are absolutely both boring and predictable. When I took this job and moved to New York, I knew it would be hard work and long hours. What I hadn’t realized was how mundane the days would be. The worst part is that the person I want to share this mundane life with is still three thousand miles away in California.
Phoebe and I manage to talk throughout each day, and while I haven’t touched my girl in almost three months, that’s about to change. She’s promised her mother she’ll be home for Thanksgiving and I’ve told my own mother, in no uncertain terms, I will be spending my day of giving thanks with my girlfriend. Preferably thanking her for allowing me to provide her with endless orgasms.
The day isn’t just for eating turkey and cranberry sauce or watching football.
Yes, I’m a pig and I don’t care. It’s been months since I’ve kissed, touched, or made love to my girlfriend. The woman who makes me laugh every day and who I plan to spend the rest of my life making smile.
I cross the street and since I don’t have any more stops before the subway, I pull my cell phone from my pocket and punch in my password. The moment my screen lights up, I’m greeted with a picture of Phoebe and me the last few days I was in California this summer. Phoebe’s laughing in the picture as I nibble on her neck. If pictures could talk, I’d be telling her all the things I planned to do later with my tongue, and she’d be scolding me for embarrassing her and making public declarations. Until I moved here, Phoebe refused to label our relationship and essentially avoided public displays of affection. No more. She now willingly accepts the title and label of our relationship, and I can almost guarantee by the time we see each other, public displays of affection will be a given.
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