Page 120 of Ripped & Shipped
“Yeah?”
“You …”
I stare at him. There aren't any words. His beautiful, ocean-blue eyes search mine. His mouth turns up in a smirky smile.
Something about that challenges me enough to press on and speak my mind.
“I feel all that. For you. I feel it too. You and I … we weren’t supposed to be like this. But I don’t know how to say this, except to say I can’t imagine it not being you. What did you do to me?”
He chuckles.
“Somehow you went from being so very annoying, to being one of my closest friends, to being my person.”
“I’m your person?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You are.”
A tear surprises me, coming to my eye and leaking down my face.
“You’re crying,” Chris says, wiping my cheek gently with the pad of his thumb.
“I’m just not used to having anyone in my corner. And I couldn’t ask for a better person.”
“I’ve got you, Boots. Always. I’ve got you.”
He tugs me close and I fall into him, nestling my head under his chin. I grip him like a life ring, allowing myself to feel how much he means to me. It’s scary—these feelings, and having someone matter the way he’s come to matter to me.
“So,” he murmurs into the top of my head. “No more faking?”
“I haven’t been faking for a while either,” I confess.
I look up and he’s smiling down at me with that smile—the one I love most.
“For the record, you were way more annoying than I ever was,” he has the nerve to say.
“Oh, yeah?”
“So annoying,” he says, leaning in to kiss me.
His lips brush across mine. “Completely aggravating,” he says in a husky voice. “Drove me insane.” He kisses me again. “I was completely wild with frustration.” His lips land on mine, and this time he holds me to him, and our kiss deepens. I’m smiling, even though we’re kissing. This man. He’s tough as nails, a genuine hero, funny, deep, tender—and he feels all this for me. It’s almost more than I can believe.
I kiss him. It’s the only way to say everything I feel for him without using the actual words that are pressing to come out. Not yet. I will tell him. Just not yet. So, I kiss him with everything I have, running my fingers through his hair, across his jaw, down his chest, over his arms. He’s savoring me in return. It’s like a dam has broken between us.
Something tugs at my attention, reminding me where we are—behind Dad’s store, on the Fourth of July.
I pull back, smiling up at Chris. “We should go find everyone and try to celebrate the holiday. I’m pretty sure Riley would want me to see her in the parade.”
Chris twists one of my pigtails in his fingers. He holds my gaze. “Let’s go then.”
We don’t move. I cling to him, and he towers above me, looking down into my eyes.
“Yep. Let’s go,” I reiterate.
But we still don’t move. Neither of us wants to break this moment. Once we walk away, it’s over. Something new will take its place. But this is the spot—of all the places—where Chris took the risk and told me how he feels about me. It’s the spot where I let my guard down and told him what he means to me. I feel like staying here, in this place—in this moment—forever.
That is until the whir of lawnmowers and clang of cymbals sound on the street in front of the shop.
“The parade!” I shout.
