Page 100 of So Much More
Instead of answering, she pushes me inside, slams the door, tosses the rest of my toast to the side, yanks my head down to hers, and kisses me like we’ve been apart for weeks, not an hour. Without breaking the connection, I walk us over to the couch and sit down on the arm so our faces are on the same level and she can stand between my legs. Though I’m itching to run my fingers through her hair, I refrain, as I don’t want to thoroughly mess it up, because we both need to be at work soon.
I let her continue to control the pace, which borders on frantic at first but then evens out into a slower, more sensual kiss. After a few minutes, her mouth draws away from mine, but she leaves her arms looped around my neck.
“What was that for?” I ask breathlessly.
“Making up for not kissing you last night.”
“You did a pretty good job of that earlier this morning.”
She smirks at me. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Indeed. How’d you know I’d still be home?” I ask as I rearrange a few strands of her hair.
“I took a chance. I was waiting for the bus when I decided I needed to kiss you again, so I walked over here.”
“What if Ash was in here when you marched in and mauled my face?”
She traces my lips with her fingers, making me want to pull her fully onto the couch with me.
“He’s a big boy. He could have handled it. But I knew he wasn’t here, because I saw his car pull out of the garage,” she explains.
“Ah. Everything worked out just right for you, then.”
“It did. And I’m also getting a ride to work from my boyfriend.” Now she’s tracing my jawline.
This is the first time she has referred to me as her boyfriend, which makes my chest swell. “Oh, you are?”
She nods. “Uh-huh.”
“Even though I refused to trade in the car you hate?” I plan to replace it with something more practical and affordable, but I haven’t told her that yet. It’s more fun to listen to her complain about it.
“I don’t hate it.”
I cock my head to the side, momentarily disrupting her finger tracing. “Pretty sure you do.”
“I hate the backseat, not the entire car.”
“Backseats can be fun.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her, but she pinches them between her fingers to keep them from moving.
“Not your backseat. You’d never fit in there by yourself, much less both of us together.”
“We could always try. It would make for a great story.”
She giggles. “I’d rather make out with you on the couch.”
“Who said anything about making out?”
She swats my chest. “You’re a bad, bad man.”
“What are you talking about? Backseats are an excellent place for a conversation.”
“Funny guy.” She takes a step back and tugs at my hand. “Let’s go, or we’ll be late.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
forty-four
“What’s our topic for tonight?” Randall asks me on Saturday night. A cold front came through earlier today, dropping the temperature to a bearable level with low humidity, so we walked over to the lake, where a brisk breeze is blowing and whipping up waves. I’m sitting between his legs with his arms draped around me.
