Page 79 of Yours, Unexpectedly

“Speaking of…” I chew my lip nervously. “I know we touched on it briefly the other night, but are you planning on going back to the city after graduation?”

“That’s the plan, especially if you end up finding a job there,” he teases, reminding me how mortified I was when he saw that particular search on my phone. “There are only a few places in the country where it makes sense to go if I really want to pursue a career on stage. New York definitely makes the most sense with my musical theater background and with your family being so close…” he trails off, his eyes flashing toward me as if to measure if we are on the same page about that.

I would follow you anywhere.

I don’t say it outloud, but I’m struck silent by how true it is.

“I found a couple of leads while I was searching the other night.” I hesitate. We both know we are dancing around each other in this conversation, neither of us wanting to assume what the other is saying.

“Oh yeah? Tell me about them.”

“Well, I want to work with kids,” I muse. “Beyond that I’m still unsure. The city is actually a perfect place to job hunt, though. There are so many different non-profits or after school programs, opportunities for me to put my degree to good use.” I allow a small smile to creep up. “I actually found one organization that looks amazing. They partner with public schools with the lowest socioeconomic status and make sure that all of the non-educational needs of the students are met. Meals, clothing, activities, books—basically the staff names what they need and they work on figuring out how to provide it.”

He pushes up on his elbow and faces me, tucking a rogue curl behind my ear. “That sounds amazing, Bex. Honestly, you would be perfect for something like that. You are caring and attentive—exactly what those kids and teachers need.”

“Yeah?” I ask, needing his approval for some reason.

“Yeah.” He nods his head. “And selfishly, I want to keep you close to me. You’re applying, right?”

“I wasn’t sure, but I think I will now… yeah. It could be good to get out of Sassafras and there are lots of things in the city that I’m drawn to.”

“Like the hockey team?” he jokes.

I will never live that down. I roll my eyes and flick him on the forehead.

“Yes, exactly like the hockey team. I bet I could become a puck bunny and find my very own hockey player. I heard the defensemen can skate faster backwards than forwards! That has to come in handy for something, right?”

Before I know it, Anders has essentially tackled me to the ground, pinning my arms over the top of my head.

He leans down close, lips grazing mine. “I don’t care if he’s the highest paid player in the NHL, no one will touch what’s mine. Got it?”

I don’t have a chance to respond—not that I have a legitimate argument—because suddenly Anders’ mouth is on mine, giving just as much as he’s taking.

I’m consumed by him in this moment.

His feel—hard planes meeting my soft curves.

His taste—delicate strawberries mixed with rich chocolate, leftover flavors from our dessert.

His smell—something masculine I can’t identify but that’s undeniably him.

He’s surrounding me, lighting my skin on fire with each sweep of his tongue and touch of his hand. I want to drown in him, want to be pulled under following the siren song of his kiss.

I’m not sure how long we stay like that—bodies entangled, souls getting dangerously close to permanently interweaving. Eventually, Anders pulls back, eyes dark and wanting.

“Let’s go up to the apartment. It’s beautiful in here but I want you in my bed, all to myself.”

The same sentiment from earlier returns.

I would follow Anders anywhere.

I see her come in. Gabe’s sister is cute as hell, which is definitely not a thought I should be having. She’s with a group of friends and I watch as they push two tables together. She sits down and looks around, her eyes almost immediately locking on mine. I hold in a laugh as they widen before she quickly looks away.

That won’t do. I set my beer down on the bar and make my way over to her.

“Hey, Baby Bardot. Aren’t you a little young to be here?”

She tries to hide her face behind her curls while surreptitiously peeking up at me. “It’s Louie’s. There’s not an age limit.”

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