Page 49 of After All This Time

But now that I know it's not just me?

That this pull isn't one-sided and she's fighting this just as hard as me?

Yeah, that changes the game.

I stand by the car, holding the door open as Amelia struggles to slip her heels back on, wincing each time she tries. Without a second thought, I take the shoes from her hands and offer my arm. She steps onto the sidewalk, balanced on her tiptoes like some barefoot princess avoiding the cold concrete. After closingthe door and watching the Uber disappear, I hand her shoes back.

I turn, crouching in front of her. "Get on."

She doesn't hesitate—just hooks her arms around my neck and jumps, her legs wrapping around my waist as she settles against me. Her shoes dangle against my chest, tapping lightly with each step I take. I adjust my grip, my hands holding her thighs tightly, pressing her to me as I feel her warmth through the thin layer of her jeans.

It's borderline torture, having her this close. These fucking jeans are my enemy right now—a cruel barrier between my hands and the skin I'm dying to touch. But for now, I'll take what I can get—my hands wrapped firmly around her, each step driving her tighter to me as she breathes softly against my neck.

I've given this girl a hundred piggybacks, but this one feels different. Tonight, I'm excruciatingly aware of every place my hands touch her.

Her scent fills the air around me—not the familiar coconut shampoo but her perfume—a heady mix of floral and spice that I swear is laced with some kind of dick-hardening pheromone designed purely to drive me insane. Every inhale makes me want to turn my head, bury my face in her neck, and breathe her in until I drown in it.

By the time we reach our front door, I'm barely holding on. I set Amelia down, my hands lingering a heartbeat too long on her thighs, feeling the heat through the denim before I reluctantlypull back. She drops her shoes by the door, tiptoeing across the floor and heading straight for the couch, where she collapses without a second thought. She stretches out, arms and legs splayed, sinking into the cushions as if they're welcoming her home. She lets out a deep, satisfied sigh, and for a moment, I'm frozen, caught between watching and wanting.

I move closer, my feet silent against the floor, until I'm standing over her. My hands find the top of the couch cushions as I look down at her, unable to tear my gaze away. Her hair spills across the pillows like dark silk, one hand resting softly on her stomach, and everything in me aches to touch her. To trace the delicate line of her jaw and feel the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. Her breathing is slow and steady, and I'm hit with this insane urge to feel the rise and fall of her chest, to press my hand there and match my breath to hers.

"You sleeping there tonight, Firefly?"

"Maybe." She laughs, her eyes fluttering open to meet mine.

Before she pushes herself up, there's a brief moment—just a flicker—where something almost electric passes between us.

I don’t move. I stay rooted in place, my eyes following her every step as she gets up and heads toward the kitchen. She opens the refrigerator, grabs a bottle of water, and I finally manage to pull myself to my feet.

"You heading back out?" she asks, taking a sip of water, the bottle pressed against her lips as she watches me over its edge.

I step into the kitchen and stop across from her, shaking my head. "No."

I don't know how she does it, how she can stand so close and not let whatever this is affect her the way it's tearing through me.

Maybe she's just better at pretending.

"Why not?" she asks.

Why not?I could tell her a hundred things, but none would make sense.

The only truth I've got is this… I don't want to go.

That's all I've got—that I just want to stay here with her.

My dick's broken.

Except it isn't, and that's the problem.

"Not in the mood," I mutter.

"Well, that's a first."

It's also a lie, but right now, I'm ready to fuck a brick wall with how much I want this pain in the ass standing in front of me.

I walk toward her, saying nothing, needing water and maybe a miracle to sober me up a little more.

Amelia doesn't move as I open the refrigerator door, and when I turn back, I realize I'm standing way too close—close enough that the line between us feels about a mile thinner than it did a second ago.

---