Page 97 of Too Safe

“50 First Dates.”

“Forgetting Sarah Marshall.”

“What?”

“Seriously?”

“No!”

Joey bursts into a fit of giggles. “Your favorite movie is50 First Dates? Are you serious?”

“It’s an incredible story!” I defend.

She clutches her stomach and gasps for breath. “It’s just like every other”—another laugh slips out—“Adam Sandler movie ever made!” She tosses her head back. “But set in a tropical location!”

“Um, no. It’s a masterpiece. Cinematic perfection. It’s funny. Clever. Romantic.” I give her a pointed stare. “It’s the best stupid stoner rom-com set in Hawaii. Full stop.”

She sits up straight and takes a calming breath before turning to me.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” she asks.

“We’re going to have to watch them both to figure out the truly superior film?”

She shakes her head, looking forlorn. “We’re not soul mates. In fact, this might make us mortal enemies.”

I pull her until her thigh presses against my leg, just in case she gets any funny ideas about putting space between us. Not. Happening.

Tilting closer, I brush my nose against hers. “We’re watching both. End of story.” I hold her wrists in my hands and bite down on my lip, desperate to kiss her. We’re still nose to nose, but a prickle of insecurity gives me pause.

She’s the one who pumped the brakes. She’s the one who pushed me away. As silly as it might seem, I want her to choose me. I want her to want me. I wantherto kissme.

And as if she can read my mind, she presses her lips to mine.

It’s a soft, tender kiss. A sweet caress filled with forgiveness.

I pull on her wrists to bring her body closer, and she opens for me. Her lips part, and her tongue teases mine in a slow, sensual caress. I match her pace, absorbing it all, committing this moment to memory and savoring the feel of her in my arms again.

There’s nothing hurried about it. Nothing rushed or hidden. Honestly, I think that’s what I like most.

After a hot-as-fuck encounter in the pantry, then a massively bad misunderstanding, she’s kissing me on the couch, out in the open for everyone to see.

It’s a claiming. A claimingsheinitiated. And I fucking love it.

“Forgetful Joey… she’s hotter than David Bowie.”

Joey snorts, then smacks me in the arm and readjusts herself on my lap. Her hair’s a tangled mess, her lips puffy from our make-out session. Sessions? We honestly haven’t stopped kissing since the movie started.

“My turn,” she declares, sitting up and straddling my lap.

She drapes her body around me and ghosts her lips along my neck.

“Forgetful Nicky… he really wants a hickey.”

Before I can react, she latches on, biting hard and sucking the skin on my neck until my hips take control and buck from below her.

“You’re trouble,” I laugh, craning back ever so slightly in a feeble attempt to get away.

I don’t care if she marks me. Hell, I welcome it. I’m already dreaming up a design to represent her somehow. Bite marks or the shape of her mouth would be so fucking hot inked into my skin.

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