If she lets me.
We share little to no words, our eyes doing most of the talking. Connie stands near the foot of the bed, one hand clutching her upper arm, watching me rummage through my closet.
I pull a t-shirt off the hanger and walk over. Dropping the shirt on the bed, I kiss her delicately on the lips before I pull her knit sweater over her head.
Freed from the sweater, her hair tumbles back down, and she smiles, staring back at me. Her smile shouldn’t crack me open like this. But it does. Oh, it fucking does.
I drop her sweater on the bed and smile back at her as I softly drag my hands over her cheeks, raking my fingers into her hair before pulling her into another kiss.
Unhurried. Chaste. But the intensity behind the kiss is life-shattering. Altering me the longer I keep my lips pressed to hers.
As I pull away, she reaches back and unhooks her bra. Then, she wordlessly tugs on her skirt so it falls to her feet, and steps out of it. I take a moment to soak her in, dragging a knuckle up her stomach and around the curve of her breast.
“You don’t even feel real,” I say under my breath, barely realizing I said the words out loud.
Her gaze is penetrating when I look up at her, watching me. Usually, I’d be embarrassed that she heard what I just said. But not this time.
This time, I don’t want to hide behind deflection and prickly temperament.
I’m sick and tired of hiding.
She takes a step closer and skates her hands over my chest, my skin breaking into goosebumps under her touch. Her eyes are still steadfast and intense as she looks at me.
“Isthisreal?” she asks quietly.
I don’t answer immediately, the silence nestling its way between us, warm and promising. Taking her hand in mine, I kiss her fingers.
“So fucking real.”
She smiles again.
It’s relief and affection and fucking unicorns and sunshine all rolled into one.
And I crack open even more.
While she puts on my t-shirt, I undress down to my briefs and slip under the covers. She follows me into bed, the cutest little grin on her lips, while she scooches into my open arm, pressing herself against me. I turn off the light and sigh back into her body, wrapping my arms around her.
The lack of tension between us right now is intoxicating, much more powerful than the head-spinning lust that we usually engage in.
Because thisisreal.
The realest thing I’ve ever fucking felt, that’s for sure. Is this what it feels like to have luck on my side? No. This is much bigger than just dumb luck. It feels a lot closer to what Connie shared when we were snowed in at the theatre.
Fate.
“Thank you,” Connie whispers, her nose pressed to my neck and tickling my skin.
“For what?” I ask casually, my fingers stroking up and down her arm.
“Just thank you,” she says again.
I smile and kiss her forehead.
“Anytime, pretty girl.”
43
HUXLEY
