Page 70 of The Secret
“Because I’m still not sure you’re getting me,” I admitted. I swung my legs off the bed and braced my elbows on my knees. “This is not a one-time thing, meaning I don’t just want to have sex againtonight, but I’d like to have sex with you on a regular basis. A regular,monogamousbasis.”
His lips parted, but no sound came out.
“A regular, monogamous basis where we also talk. And have meals. And hang out. And… honestly, I don’t know what else, because I have about as much experience with this shit as you do, so we can kind of take it from there.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat once more. He looked wary.
“Wow. Do you actually need that drink of water now?” I demanded. “Or are you trying to figure out how to tell me no? Because you can just tell me flat-out. No harm, no foul. You won’t hurt my feelings,” I lied.
“No! No, that’s not… I want that. I… haven’t had sex with anyone since… Way before the time in the workroom and… I don’t want anyone else.”
I sucked in a breath and told myself not to read too much into those words, but I couldn’t help it.
“Good. Same here. So,nowcan you come to bed?” I demanded.
Con grinned and tossed his jeans on the floor, where they remained for the rest of the night.
And most of the morning.
Chapter Nine
Constantine
September
“I liked it. Did you like it?” I demanded as we drove away from the little cul de sac in Piermonte, nearly ten miles outside O’Leary, and the little blue Honda parked in the driveway there.
“Told you I liked it when we were test-driving it,” Micah reminded me with a smile, but I was still buzzing from the excitement of finding a car after weeks of looking, and I couldn’t keep quiet.
“Low miles. Only four years old. Totally within my budget. Guy can deliver it this week.” I ticked the items off on my fingers.
“Don’t forget the faint air of butterscotch from the little old lady who owned it.” Micah grinned over at me from the driver’s seat as he navigated his truck down the side streets that led to the highway. “What’s not to love, baby?”
I grinned back, feeling my face heat. Thebabywas a throwaway comment, not a declaration of anything, and I knew it, but it gave me this littlezingevery time he used it. Combined with one of Micah’s rare grins, combined with the golden beauty of a September Sunday, and I could feel it lighting me up from the inside out in a way I had no desire to fight.
Of course, some of that peaceful mood might also have been because I’d spent the night at Micah’s place, eating pasta and binge-watchingMan in the High Castle… sort of. Micah, who’d already watched all three seasons, had agreed to re-watch the series starting from the first episode, and in gratitude, I’d cooked homemade baked ziti that would’ve made even my Nonna Bettinelli ask for seconds.
But after we ate, I’d teased Micah that with conflict resolution skills like these, our relationship was bound to get boring as fuck pretty quickly, and the man hadnot at all predictablytaken that as a challenge to demonstrate just hownot-boring things could be. So, as a result, Istillhadn’t actually seen the entire first episode.
But I'd been sloppy-grinning all day long.
“I do not trust that face, Constantine,” Micah teased.
“What face?” I said innocently, lifting my hands to frame my cheeks. “Thisface? This sweet, innocent face?”
“That face means trouble.”
“Trouble?God, that sounds so negative. No, this is the face of a man who just bought himself a car,with cash money, and is having it delivered this week.” I grabbed the papers I’d set on the dash and shook them like maracas.
Micah snorted.
“This is the face of a guy who’s out with his… hisman, enjoying the day,” I said, only stumbling the tiniest bit over the lack of suitable word to call him, since every other relationship-y word sounded either overly juvenile for a guy over forty, or very, very committed.
“Trouble,” Micah said again. “The kind of trouble that's gonna have me pulling over to the side of the road before I wreck us.”
I felt my heart kick up and made myself study my fingernails nonchalantly. “Pssht.LikeIam to blame foryourutter lack of control.”
He picked up my hand and interlaced our fingers so his warm, callused palm rested against mine atop the center console. “Turns out, I really like your kind of trouble.”
