Page 38 of Spring Break with a Bass Player
“I feel like we kind of did this backward—the dating thing, I mean. To me it’s like the last couple of months were the lead-up to this.”
She motions between us, and I grin. “When you were scowling at me every day?”
“I am who I am.”
And I love that about you.
My mouth opens and closes without making a sound because I’m not exactly sure what’s happening here.
“I like who you are.” I swallow hard. “More than like.”
“You asked me to not be afraid of telling you what I want, and I want you to move in. I don’t want to come home to an empty house. I want to have your parents and your sister over for dinner, and I want you to get to know my family too. I want to relegate the mugs you try to sneak into the cabinet into that weird space above the stove no one ever uses.”
I snort but I can’t temper my smile as I slide closer and cup her face in my hands. “I’m falling in love with you.”
“Is it because I said we can keep the mugs?” she asks casually even though I can feel the way her pulse flutters.
“It’s definitely about the mugs,” I agree, “and absolutely not because you’ve shown me so much of who you are on the inside. The kind and sweet side that you’ll deny with your last breath. The woman who is so fucking incredible I can’t help but be a little obsessed.”
“Only a little?”
The taunt is clear as I crash my mouth to hers. It’s hot and passionate and everything I need to know I’m doing the right thing—that we’re doing the right thing.
Because moving in with anyone else this soon would be crazy.
But not her.
“A lot,” I rasp against her lips.
“I think I love that you’re obsessed with me.”
“You do, huh?” I murmur, still not pulling away.
“I love a lot of things about you.”
“Tell me.”
“Your modesty, obviously,” she deadpans and I shake with silent laughter.
“What else?”
“I love that you know when to push me, when I can’t get out of my own head, and that you don’t hold it against me when it takes longer than it should.”
“Saige.”
“It matters, Bridge. It matters so much to me that you like me despite the parts of me that are still a little bruised and jaded.”
“Love,” I correct, the wordlikenot nearly enough for what I feel for this woman pouring her heart out to me on a bench on her lunch break.
“Are you saying youloveme, Bridger Cole?”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Miss Reiser?”
“Maybe, but more for confirmation than anything else.” Gripping my shirt, she closes the distance and kisses me in away that’s unhurried, sweeping her tongue against mine as she explores my mouth. “Thanks for making me fall in love with you.”
“Are you saying youlove me, Beautiful?”
“Yeah, Band Camp, I love you.”
