Page 66 of The Lovers
I don’t want to skip over important parts just because we have a history together.
Ten years have passed.So much has changed.
“Is it okay if we slow down a little?” I ask, pulling back to look her in the eyes. She presses her forehead to mine as her breathing downshifts. Her eyes are dilated with desire Iknowis about me. She runs her hand up into my hair, and twines a loose strand around her pointer finger.
“Tell me something about Kit Larson now.” I speak it soft, but it’s an order.
“A truth?” she questions, as that finger uncurls from my hair to lightly trek over my breasts. Her eyes stay on mine.
“Yeah, a truth.” I grin at her reference to our favorite game from our youth.
She considers the question as her fingers consider the lines of my waist.
“I have no apartment, no furniture, just a few boxes of things that are all my own,” she says, her mouth still tantalizingly close to mine.
“Why is that?” I ask, impressed I can focus as her finger taunts the waistband of my jeans on her journey over my torso. I’m not entirely surprised by her answer.
It’s very manic pixie dream girl of her.
“I always thought I liked it that way—the impermanence of my existence. It gave me freedom to not get too tied down.” She pauses, brushing my hair away from my neck and touching the mini red heart on my necklace. “I could pick up and leave when I was ready. And I was always ready sooner than I thought.”
“Have you ever lived alone?” I ask, leaning, pressing a light kiss to the line of her neck. Two can play this game. Tiny touches tantalize. Women’s skin is full of nerve endings, in all sorts of places you wouldn’t expect, wouldn’t know, if you aren’t a woman yourself.
“Not alone,” she says, leaning up to let me pepper kisses all the way to her ear. A gasp escapes her lips and her eyes roll closed. I smile against her neck.
“Do you want your own place?” I brush my nose over hers and lean back again. She fondles my hand, spreading the fingers wide and fitting hers between them before she answers.
“I think I’d like to own a couch. Pick out a bed frame and research mattresses.” Her eyes open now, and have a sheen. “Maybe get a potted plant or two.”
It’s clear to me this means more to her than filling an apartment with furniture. This is a signal. A flare up in the air that she is ready to leave the manic pixie dream girl behind.
“Something to work on when you get back,” I say, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I have some great recommendations for where to start. If you’d like some help.”
She presses her lips to mine in a soft kiss. “I bet you have whole binders of research.”
I tug her against me, running my hands up beneath her shirt. “I even used my label maker.” I flick her nipple with the pad of my thumb. “Color-coded the folders.” Our mouths meld into each other’s and we get lost.
Tongues and hands and hair.
We spin around on top of the quilt, roughing it up with our movement. My head rests against a pillow and she fits her body next to mine, wrapping one of her languid, shapely legs over my hip and curling it to draw me closer.
I stare into her eyes as she lays her head on the opposite pillow.
“Now you,” she says, pecking me fast as punctuation. “Truth.”
“I’m starting my own business,” I say. “Still weddings. All me, though.”
“So that other account I saw on Instaisyou?” She chuckles. “It wasn’t set up with much, so I thought it might be a fake.”
It occurs to me that others who have searched for my Instagram might have also seen this account. Maybe Zoe or my boss.
“I haven’t told anyone at work yet,” I say, pushing the anxiety about that possibility down with my reply.
“Not even Zoe?”
“Why would I tell Zoe?” I’m surprised by the suggestion.
“She just seems dedicated—and, like, to you. I feel like she’d want to know.”
