“Thinking,” she said as I wedged my hand between her legs, sighing as the smooth skin of her thighs sandwiched me, soft and warm. “But badly. My brain’s a mess, so I need to just stop.”
“Intrusive thoughts or something we can talk through?”
She hummed. “Time will tell.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but then she scooted closer to me, pushing my hand right into another warm part of her body.
My hand cupped her automatically, probing for what I couldn’t see. She was definitely wearing panties, but I couldn’t tell much else.
“You feel okay?” I asked, rubbing her softly.
“Yeah,” she breathed back. “How about you?”
“Better than I could ever put into words.”
I couldn’t see it, but I felt her smile wash over me. I knew the power of it, the exact thing it did to me, lighting me from inside.
I could probably feel her smile in a crowd of thousands.
There was some rustling as she twisted, and I laughed in delighted agony when she slotted herself against me in the little spoon position.
Herbareback to my front, skin to skin.
I inhaled deeply, breathing in the moment, as content as I’d ever been. Then I snaked my arm under her neck and smoothed the opposite hand down her leg, stroking and lightly scratching all the skin I could find.
She sighed happily after a couple of minutes and finally let her muscles melt into mine. I hadn’t even realized the difference until I felt it. Smiling, I kissed the top of her head and kept stroking, soothing her into sleep.
Or trying to, since she softly jerked herself to wakefulness every few minutes, like she wouldn’t allow herself to sleep.
I was about to ask her about it, but then soft music started playing from her phone, and I sat up a little, glancing toward it.
It wasn’t the chimes of her usual alarm.
It was a single line of piano, playing a familiar melody.
Ireland turned onto her back, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose as the song continued.
“Happy Birthday, Adair.”
My pulse beat wildly as I caged her in with my arms and hovered over her silhouette. I lowered the desperate organ that beat only for her so it rested on her body exactly where it wanted to be, and I found her lips, kissing her softly.
“Best one I’ve ever had, Ireland.”
44
ADAIR
On the morning of my twenty-ninth revolution around the sun, I woke in a cold bed to the memory of a warm kiss.
The soft sheets made a swishing sound as I sent a probing hand out, seeking that warmth. Frowning when I didn’t find it, I reached for my glasses and pushed myself up in her bed.
The room was empty, morning light streaming through the windows, and my crutch was waiting for me, propped against the windowsill, with a note on top.
I flung the covers off and reached for it.
“Often when you think you’re at the end of something, you’re at the beginning of something else.” —Fred Rogers
Happy Birthday, Adair.
