Free The Crossover by E. Clay Page A

office in Birmingham, in the UK. How far is Birmingham from where you live?”
    “Birmingham is not that far at all. It’s right up the M6 motorway. Who do I have to hypnotize to make sure you get the position?”
    “We’ll see. They have to advertise the position first. The CEO, Ms. Deveraux, will be onsite next week. I might just mention it in passing.”
    When Monet showed me the calling card she purchased I immediately thought of her racking up an expensive phone bill. I recommended we sign up for Skype accounts. In less than half an hour we both had Skype on our cellphones and we practiced skyping lying next to one another on the bed.
    Around 9pm the reality of our last night began to set in. I wanted to be happy but I wasn’t. I didn’t want to leave her. It felt so natural just being around her. Monet was also concerned, mostly about April, my ex-fiancée. It took a while, but I think I eased her mind, especially when I told her she could call me anytime day or night.
    Around 11pm we showered together and just enjoyed each other’s company under the warm, splashing water. I got out of the shower first and dried off. Monet remained behind a few minutes after me. By the time she dried off I was already in bed waiting for her. As she hung up the towel she looked nervous. She stood at the foot of the bed in the nude with a look of uncertainty. She was apprehensive and I didn’t know why. She eased into the bed to join me.
    “Well, tonight’s our last night. I guess you want to make love, right?” Monet asked still wincing a bit.
    I looked at Monet and kissed her forehead. I didn’t answer her.
    Monet’s body made contact with mine underneath the duvet. She immediately looked underneath.
    “Clay, you’re wearing boxers. You never wear underwear to bed. Why tonight?” Monet asked, sitting up.
    I got out of bed and put on the CD. The song Love Won’t Let Me Wait played softly. I dimmed the lighting.
    I grabbed Monet’s hand and escorted her to the center of the suite’s living room. She looked into my eyes.
    “Monet, the reason I’m wearing boxers to bed is because tonight it’s a no-sex zone. And that’s official. Would you like to dance with me?”
    “Yes, but you are overdressed,” she said as she kneeled down and removed them.
    She stood and placed her hand in mine. I lead and she followed. We danced well into the early hours of the morning cherishing the precious moments we had left.

En Route to Dulles Airport
7:30pm
    Checking out of the Hilton was difficult. Room 132 was our little home and it was sad to close the door behind us for the very last time. Monet kept finding reasons to go back to the room to ensure we didn’t leave anything behind, but we did... special memories of a renewed love. Monet and I kept our room keys as mementos.
    Monet rebooked her ticket so she flew out of Dulles Airport one hour after my redeye flight to Heathrow. She was returning to Evansville on Delta Airlines.
    The drive to the airport elevated our imminent separation anxiety and we were quiet for about the first fifteen minutes or so before Monet broke our silence.
    “I read your book The Mogadishu Diaries.”
    “I know you did, darling.”
    Monet turned down the radio and faced me.
    “How did you know I read it? Oh, I forgot, you’re psychic.”
    “No, I’m not psychic. I read your review on Amazon. You gave it a five-star review. I knew it was you. It was like you were speaking to me.”
    “I was,” she replied.
    “I want to be your beta reader for your next novel,” Monet volunteered.
    With one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her thigh, I replied, “So what makes you so sure there will be another book?”
    “Because I know my man. And I say there is another book in you.”
    “Babe, I dunno. I lost two close friendships over that book. After I wrote the book I reached out to two Marines that served with me in Mogadishu. Marines that in my opinion defined the Somali experience with valor