Page 63 of Late Bloomer
Well, that simply cannot happen.
Because the sex was so great. Obviously. No, like, emotional reason. Or whatever.
But a misplaced ooze of panic seeps through me at the idea that this won’t happen again and it’s just that Pepper’s breathing has started to even out and she no longer feels like a boneless mass next to me but kind of tense and like maybe she’s realizing this was a mistake and—
“Do you still want to do the competition?”
I turn my head, blinking at Pepper. Her eyebrows are furrowed in question as she continues staring up at the ceiling, lost to some completely other phase of reality.
“Is post-nut clarity giving you second thoughts?”
Pepper’s gaze flicks to me, eyes tracing over my face. “Sorry, I have a feeling that was a totally inappropriate question to ask after…”
“Fucking each other senseless?”
Pepper’s face scrunches up. “How poetic.”
I laugh, deep and throaty, a laugh that can push away allthe other odd feelings trying to clamber up my throat. Then I lean in and kiss Pepper. Soft and light.
“I’ll do the competition with you,” I whisper against her lips. In a way that is totally devoid of feeling and intimacy. Obviously.
I pull back, then sit up, tucking my knees to my chest as I search for my clothes, feeling oddly modest after what just happened, another slosh of panic filling my chest. But it won’t do me any good to lie in bed with Pepper, collecting those smiles of hers while the sun frames her head like a goddamn halo.
Pepper sits up too, nodding. “Great.”
“Great.”
“And this was…”
“Great.” A long pause as I gather the nerve to look at her. “And for you?”
Pepper’s face wrecks me. Earnest, hesitant smile. Glowing cheeks. Hair mussed from where I fisted it. “Really great,” she whispers. Soft and sweet and rather devastating. “Already looking forward to next time.”
And I nod.
Slip out of bed.
Grab my clothes.
And dart from the room.
Leaving every almost-feeling that threatened to consume me in that moment on the bed next to her.
Chapter 21OPAL
“The weekend went by too fast.” Olivia pouts before popping the last bite of biscuit in her mouth. “I’m tempted to move here myself.” She waves her arm around toward the main strip of West Asheville where I met her and Ophelia for brunch before they head home this afternoon.
“Youshould,” I say, leaning forward. “It’s not like work is keeping you tied to Charlotte.” Olivia is a journalist and can pretty much do her job wherever.
“No way I could afford it. Not all of us win the lottery.”
“Not to get all Elton John, but I’ll buy a big house where we all can live.” I waggle my eyebrows at my sisters.
“Opal, have you ever heard of savings and money management? Just curious.”
I stick my tongue out at Ophelia. “You should be nicer to me, I might be your last hope at property ownership in this lifetime.”
“Might? I gave up on the idea of owning a home when I was ten,” she shoots back. “You, my dear, are myonlyhope. And that’s a rather terrifying idea.”
