Page 29 of The Heartbreak List

“I know you didn’t.” She offers me a watery smile. “But it feels that way all the same.”

“I never stop wanting you.” I skim my hand under her skirt and over her panties. She shivers and her eyes roll back in her head on the sweetest moan. I tuck the panties to the side and press a finger into her. She grows slippery. Ready.

“Then show me.” She pries my belt open and tugs down the zipper so she can wrap her hot palm around my cock. It throbs and swells in her grip.

“Fuck.” I groan as I surge forward to kiss her at the same time as my hips rock forward.

Guiding me to her, she shifts position to take me.

I cup the back of her head as her heat overtakes me. Her hair smells of vanilla and roses. It’s my favorite scent right after the way she smells when she’s aroused. I press my lips to her temple on my way to her mouth. She opens to the slide of my tongue. Presses back while we start to move slowly.

“More, Gray.” She moans into my mouth.

A ball of something in my gut keeps me holding back. I want to pound her until the desk squeaks across the floor. But what if I hurt her?

Gripping my hips, she urges me deeper.

I give in to the need to fuck her a bit harder, a little faster. Enough that she begins to tighten around me. Her breathing speeds up and her body quivers. Her cheeks flush as she shuts her eyes on a quiet cry.

The pit of my stomach draws tight and then I’m pulsing inside of her. Feeling strangely light. Lighter than I have in weeks.

“See, I didn’t break.” She smiles up at me, hopeful that we’ve turned the corner.

The alarm on my phone is jarring. It’s a reminder to eat, because of the fasting. It brings all of my fears and concerns to the forefront again. Squashes the dizzy warmth that had filled my chest. I don’t want it to. I smile at her as I pull out. Pretend everything is perfect.

Her stomach rumbles as she smooths down her skirt. She chuckles. “It’s like I’m Pavlov’s dog. Your alarm goes off and my hunger perks up.”

“How about I take you to dinner?” I stuff myself back in my pants. Re-tuck my shirt. Something glistens in her hair, and I pick it out. “You have a bit of glass.”

“Oh. It exploded. I was probably too close.” She takes it from me and tosses it into the trash. “Where do you want to eat?”

We go to Dolce. It’s our favorite restaurant. The waiter shows us to our usual table.

The lighting is diffused, and the tables are scattered with plenty of space between them. Spread with cream linens and silverware. It’s intimate and quiet. A man plays tunes on the piano in the corner.

We had our first date here six years ago. I was so nervous. This was my best friend’s little sister and no matter my feelings for her there was so much potential for things to go wrong. She was so certain about us. We’d laughed and talked until it was only us and the staff and they had to kick us out so they could go home.

The waiter asks if we want our usual bottle of champagne. Indy shakes her head. “I think I’d be drunk after one sip.”

“I wasn’t going to order alcohol anyway.” I take her hand across the table like I did that first time and so many times since. “It’s dehydrating and dangerous.”

“You can if you want.” Indy squeezes back. “I’ll stick to water.”

“We’re in this together.” I peruse the menu while I try to loosen the tension that’s curled up in my jaw since we left the office. I already know what I’ll have. The same thing I order every time. “I’ll get the New York strip with the lobster tail and a garden salad. Indy will get the lasagna.”

“Actually.” She purses her lips as she mulls over her options. I don’t know why. She always gets the lasagna. Sometimes she orders two. One to go so she can enjoy it the next day. She shuts her menu. “I’ll get the linguine.”

The server collects the menus and leaves.

“Linguine. That’s different.” There’s this irritation between my shoulder blades that wants to convince me it means something. “I thought you didn’t eat mushrooms.”

She shrugs and her gaze searches for the server. “You only live once. There are a whole lot of things I need to do before I’m gone. It’s why I’ve started a bucket list.”

“Don’t talk like that.” I take her hand. The ring on her finger sparkles under the lights. I hate the idea that this is all we have. How am I supposed to pretend any of this is okay? “I can’t stand it.”

“You’ll be okay.” She stretches over the table to force my gaze. “Apparently, eight out of ten guys take a condom to a funeral, so it’s perfectly acceptable to move on right there and then. You might—”

“That’s not funny, Indy.” For the first time in our relationship I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into that head of hers when she laughs anyway. She’s too cavalier. “You need to take this seriously.”

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