Page 92 of Revival

“We didn’t know,” I murmur, lifting my head to kiss him. “We were dumb kids.”

“Iwas a dumb kid. You were perfect. I never could figure out why you saw me differently than everyone else.”

“I saw the real you. You might have been a troublemaker, but you never hurt anyone.”

“Sure I did. I hurt you.”

“It’s okay.”

He groans into my mouth, opening immediately to taste me with his tongue. “I can’t believe I stayed away from this for so long.” He kisses me again, stroking his tongue softly against mine. “I meant what I said. Now that I’ve kissed you, I’m not going to stop.”

I flop back against the pillow. “I don’t understand that rule.”

Spencer settles his elbow in the mattress and drops his head into his hand. “The last woman I kissed was you.”

“Obviously.” I roll my eyes.

He shakes his head. “The last woman I kissed was you the night I left.”

“Spencer, what…?”

“It was too perfect,” he goes on. “And intimate. I knew the second I snuck out of that motel room that I wouldn’t let myself kiss anyone else unless I knew it would be more perfect than that.”

He goes on. “No one compared.”

His hand cups my cheek. “Wasn’t even close.”

The corners of my eyes prick with tears. “Then why not kiss me at the resort?”

“Because you wanted a fling, and I didn’t think I’d survive walking away from you a second time if I had.”

“You must have some willpower.”

“If you think for one second it was easy, you better think again, gorgeous.”

“I’m glad you’re kissing me now.”

“Oh really?” The pad of his thumb runs across my bottom lip.

“Nobody else has made me feel the way you do when you kiss me.”

“Can’t tell you how fucking happy that makes me, Kitten.”

A comforting silence settles over us as Spencer plays with my hair. My body begins to relax in a way it hasn’t for the past two weeks.

“What happens with us now?”

He settles into the bed and pulls me across his chest. The steady thump of his heart beneath my ear is like a soothing lullaby.

“I want to take you out on dates, though if we aren’t telling anyone, we’ll have to get creative.”

“I can cook for you.” I run my fingers through the dark curls on his chest. “Ollie stays out with his friend Lincoln enough that we’d have the house to ourselves.”

“I like the sound of that. What do you cook?”

“Oh, just about anything, really. I had to learn so Ollie could have a diet of something other than cereal and frozen pizzas. I love one-pot pastas, but the boys get excited whenever I fire up the grill.”

“I’m not a picky eater. You decide what you want to make, and I’ll bring dessert. Are you free tomorrow?”

---