Page 9 of This

His hand skims over lace. My heart pounds, and not even sure what I’m saying anymore, I breathe out, “How?”

“I just did.” His gaze lifts back to mine. “Any more questions?”

And then we’re kissing, hard and desperate. He drags me over, and I straddle his lap, yanking his shirt over his head.

The beanbag gives way under his elbow when he leans back. I laugh as he growls with my lip between his teeth. He stands up like I’m not clinging to him and, in a few steps, lowers us onto the couch. He shoves the fabric between my legs out of the way and slides his fingers into me. My back arches with his mouth on me through the thin material of my dress, and I moan his name, undoing the button on his jeans.

And then he’s gone.

“Fuck,” he says, walking toward the kitchen while I pant where he left me on the couch. He rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head.

“Dane?”

“Sorry,” he says, already crossing the room again.

I can’t even ask what happened before he’s back between my legs, his lips crushing mine. He moves my hand between us, so I’ll finish what I started, and he glides his up my side to my breast. But when I reach his zipper, he pulls back.

“I can’t do this.” His forehead drops to my shoulder, and he groans. “Goddamn it.”

Despite his claim, within a few seconds, he presses his lips into my skin. As they move up my neck, I have to take a deep breath.

“If we’re not doing this, I really need you not to do that right now.”

Dane props himself on an elbow and stares down at me. For the first time, I notice the chain hanging from his neck and the silver bar dangling. His thumb brushes over my cheek. “I really need you not to look and feel so incredible then.”

“Why are we stopping?” I trace over the outline of his lips until he bites the pad of my finger.

“Because I already know how that scenario ends. Either I wake up and you’re gone with no plans on ever seeing me again or…”

“You leave with the same,” I finish for him.

He kisses my palm, then the medallion covering my inner wrist. “And I’m not ready to be done with you yet.” His head dips barely enough to touch his lips to mine before he flops over onto one of the beanbags. “So, I need you to keep it in your pants or skirt or whatever.”

I roll onto my side to face him. “What do you suggest we do then?”

“This.” But other than his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, nothing happens.

“We’re going to sit here and do absolutely nothing?”

“Close.” He slumps further into the cushy chair and stacks his hands behind his head. “We’re going to sit here, and I’m going to stare into your eyes.”

The dude who wears the beanie grows on you too.

By the time the doorcreaks open, I’m half-asleep on the couch. Dane’s sprawled across both beanbags, covered up with a scratchy blanket his aunt Clara knitted. Rather than stumble around, Keaton climbs over the back of the couch. I scoot as close to the edge as I can without falling off, so she can wedge herself between me and the back cushions.

She drapes her arm over me. “Stay,” she whispers.

I close my eyes, not answering her. The only reason I stuck around after I turned eighteen was for her. Now, I need to go for me.

A psychiatrist once told me, my restless desire to get away from what has always been and find what could be stems from my mother’s abandonment. I want to discover something, anything out there in the world to justify her leaving me behind. Dr. Rita was probably right, but she also recommended I cut all sugar and caffeine from my diet, so fuck her.

“I can’t,” I finally say.

Her cheek presses against my back, and she squeezes me tighter. “I know. Just come back.”

It only takes a few minutes for her to pass out again. Once her grip loosens, I crawl off the couch, careful not to wake her and re-engage it. Part of me wants to bolt right now in the middle of the night. Avoid the goodbyes altogether. But if anyone in my life deserves a proper, tear-filled goodbye, it is Keaton James Reynolds.

Dane’s arm stays draped over his eyes. I’m not even sure he’s awake until he flips the blanket up. He shifts over, and the arm slides around me when I cuddle up beside him. He readjusts the blanket over us and grazes his nose down my jawline. Thinking he’ll kiss me, I turn into him, but he only drags his lips over mine—slow and light enough that it drives me crazy within a few seconds.

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