Page 73 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
Someone honest and real and caring with no agenda except giving his lover pleasure.
But last nightdidchange everything.
I know it, and I suspect Parker does, too.
The knowledge sits between us, not quite awkward, but definitely present.
“More coffee?” I ask, reaching for the carafe at the same time he does.
Our fingers brush. We both freeze for a heartbeat, then smile.
“Sorry,” we say in unison, which makes us laugh.
“This is weird,” I admit, pouring his coffee first. “Good weird, but weird.”
“It’s the transition part,” he says, adding cream to both our cups without asking because he already knows how I like it. “From ‘desperately wanting to bone’ to ‘have successfully boned multiple times’ to ‘would like to keep boning but also hold hands in public when we’re sober.’ It’s a dance, but we’ll get there.”
“Is that all you want?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “Hand-holding when we’re sober?”
He sets his coffee down, giving me his full attention. The morning light turns his eyes the most beautiful sky blue, and the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach flip.
“Nah, I want everything,” he says simply. “Hand-holding, more road trips, you yelling at me about proper knife maintenance in the kitchen.Ourkitchen. I want to take you to games and show you off, and help you get your food truck up and running, and be your first customer every day.”
My throat goes tight. “Parker, that’s?—”
“But there’s no pressure,” he cuts in. “And no rush. I know we’re still figuring things out. I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind if that’s the way this goes.”
And maybe I wouldn’t, either.
God, I don’t know. I only know I’m not nearly as good at talking about feelings as he is. So instead, I lean in for a soft, lingering kiss that I hope he can tell means I wouldn’t mind that, either.
Any of it.
All of it?
When I pull back, his eyes are slightly dazed. “You don’t feel pressured?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I just feel…happy.”
He smiles. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I trace the edge of his jaw, marveling that I’m allowed to touch him whenever I want, without my inner psycho shouting that it’s not going to work out because he’s too young or too crazy or too Parker.
He’s perfectly Parker, and I’m pretty sure I want him to be perfectly mine.
“You’re kind of the real deal, turns out,” I add.
He gives a mock roll of his eyes. “Duh. Been trying to tell you that for literally over half a year.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, I’m stubborn. Sometimes in a good way. Sometimes in a dumb way.”
“You’re not dumb,” he says, his smile falling away as he catches my hand. “You’ve been through it with a bunch of assholes.” He pauses, pressing a kiss to my palm. “But I’m not them, and I never will be. Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a Boy Scout.’
“Sure wasn’t.” He tugs me closer with a grin, until I’m half in his lap and feeling every inch of how happy he is to see me. “But my promises are good all the same. The dirty promises are extra good, and that’s something you don’t get with your average Boy Scout.”
“Sure isn’t,” I say, biting my lip before adding in a softer voice, “thank you. For sticking with me. For not giving up.”
