Page 79 of Habits

The roughness of his fingertips on my cheeks.

“Most of all me.”

His words are all the push I need. Closing the barely visible gap between us, I press my lips against his.

He stares at me and I stare at him as my tongue slides over his lower lip and finds its way into his mouth.

At the first touch of velvet against velvet, Andrew groans loudly. His eyelashes flutter closed as his grip on me tightens. My tongue plunges deeper, and a needy moan vibrates in my throat.

So good.

Why does it always feel so good to kiss him?

My whole body turns into one giant nerve that’s pulsing with all this energy, and it feels like I’m going to burst if I don’t get just a little bit more of him.

One more kiss.

One more swipe.

One more touch.

More. More. More.

Until this ever-growing habit is satisfied.

Only it never is.

There is always more, and I’m not ready for it to be over.

Jeanette

“Granny!” I squeal in excitement as I open the front door and find my favorite family member on the other side.

“Jeanette Ann.” She smiles brightly. Her hands wrap around me, pulling me in for a long hug. Kissing both my cheeks, she takes a step back, looking at me. “You look beautiful, baby girl.”

“It all comes from the Wilson-Davies side of the family.” I wink playfully at her. And I’m not lying. Both Max and I got most of our physical attributes from our mom, who’s a carbon copy of Granny. Her hair is styled in a trendy bob and colored religiously to keep it its original midnight black color. Even in her late seventies, her crystal-blue eyes hold the sharpness I remember from a young age.

“Let me help you with that suitcase.” I usher her inside, pulling the middle-sized Louis Vuitton suitcase behind me before closing the door. A shiver runs through my body. I thought it was cold before, but I was wrong. So wrong. It’s downright freezing outside, and my sensitive Californian skin can’t take it for too long. “You should have called and somebody would have gone to the airport to get you!”

“Oh, shush! I’m not that old.”

She takes off her coat, scarf and gloves, and I grab them from her to put them away. She’s wearing one of her many pants suits. This one dark gray with barely visible silver stripes and a white silky shirt underneath it.

“Where is everybody?”

“They’re around here somewhere.” I wrap my hand around hers, taking her with me to the kitchen to prepare some tea to warm us up. “Dad is in the office, finishing some paperwork for the hospital. And Max is downstairs in the gym.”

“On Christmas Eve?” She looks at me skeptically.

“Patients don’t get better on holidays, and Max … well, he said he has to work out so he can eat all he wants later. He got a starting position on the Wolves, and the team is just a few short games away from entering the playoffs. He’s really serious about winning that thing and getting a hockey scholarship so he can play on the next level and possibly going pro later on.”

Granny shakes her head, but I can see a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “Hockey has always been Max’s first love. What about you? Are you still playing violin?”

I put the pot on the stove.

“Occasionally.”

Margaret Wilson Davies doesn’t beat around the bush. She says it as she sees it and doesn’t feel shame for doing so. I guess it’s another trait I took from her.

---