“I thought you said you were hungry.” He glances
up, his gaze catching mine. “What are you in the mood for?”
You, I want to tell
him, but jeez.
I had him not even an hour ago. What’s wrong with me? I go without Drew for a
couple of months and now I act like I need him every minute of every day.
“I don’t know.” I open the menu to check out my
options. I’ve never eaten at this restaurant. It’s close to Drew’s apartment
and I’m rarely in this part of town. “What’s good here?”
“Fable.” His deep, quiet voice makes me glance up
and I find him watching me, his dark brows drawn, a little frown curving his
mouth. “Are you okay?”
He’s got both elbows propped on the table now, his
hands clasped together, and I want those hands on me. His black long-sleeve
shirt clings to his arms, accentuating his bulging biceps, those broad
shoulders, that wide chest. I’ve explored every inch of his body the last few
days and it’s still not enough. I can’t believe he’s really mine.
And I can’t believe I’m his.
“I’m not very hungry,” I admit.
His frown deepens. “You’re the one who wanted to
come here.”
I shrug, feeling silly, my gaze locked on his
hands. They are so big. Long fingers, wide palms, a little rough, a little
smooth. I love how they touch me, sometimes gentle, sometimes with force. I
like it best when he wraps my hair around his fingers and tugs. Oh God, I
really love it when he does that . . .
I want those hands on me. Now. “I guess I’m not as
hungry as I thought.” My stomach is fluttering with nerves. I don’t want to
eat. I want Drew. I feel sort of crazed with it. Like I need to have him as much
as possible before he slips through my fingers and I lose him forever.
But I’m not going to lose him. We’re in this
together. I need to remember that—and believe it.
“You’re being weird.” Worry fills his eyes. “Are
you mad? Did I do something?”
Just his breathing—that does it for me. “I’m not
mad. I’m, um . . .” I let my voice trail off, feeling like an idiot.
“You’re what?”
“I’m looking at your hands,” I admit with a little
sigh. Can I admit out loud that I’m horny? That would sound ridiculous.
Those dark brows shoot up practically to his
hairline. “Why?”
My cheeks are hot. I squirm in my seat again. “I’m
. . . remembering what they did to me earlier.”
The frown is gone, replaced with a wicked smile
that sends my body temperature skyrocketing. He leans across the table, his
voice so low it vibrates through me and settles between my legs. “Maybe we
should go back to my place so I can do that to you all over again.”
Oh my God, that sounds like the best idea ever.
“Maybe we should.”
The smile never leaves his face. In fact, it grows
bigger. My quiet, hesitant Drew has morphed into some sort of cocky sex god.
“You don’t want to order anything?”
I slowly shake my head. “Can’t we just get pizza
again? Later?” We had it last night, too. “From somewhere different this time.
You know, just to mix it up. Or maybe Chinese? I love Chinese.”
He laughs, the sound husky. “You said you wanted to
get out of the house for a while because you worried we were becoming addicted
to each other.”
“Is that what I said?” I honestly can’t remember.
What’s wrong with being addicted to each other? Aren’t we still in this pretend
mode where we’re normal people who like to have sex without hangups or issues?
I wonder if Drew has ever had sex like this. Carefree and so . . . normal.
“Yep.” He nods.
“Maybe I like being addicted to you,” I admit
softly. We haven’t said we loved each other yet. I can’t work up the nerve.
Maybe he can’t either. Silly, considering how consumed with love I am for him.
He is just . . . amazing. Sweet. Attentive. Funny. Smart. Sexy.
I understand him. He understands me. We’re perfect
for each other.
Maybe we’re too perfect together. Too perfect
doesn’t really exist. This could all be a façade. Just like our week together
over the Thanksgiving break.
That week felt fake,
though. Surreal. There were real, grounding moments, but for the most part, we
were caught up in an act. Maybe we’re pretending right now too, but I’m trying
to be as real as I can with him. Without the baggage and the heartache and the
trouble hanging over us. For at least a little while.
It’ll all come crashing down upon us soon. That’s a
reality I don’t want to face quite yet.
He reaches across the table for my hands and takes
them in his. “I really like being addicted to you.”
The smile I send his way is so big it hurts my
cheeks. We are so in this addiction together.
For once, I know I’m not alone.
“Let’s go home and play true confessions,” I
suggest because I’m feeling silly. “Nothing heavy, though. We can keep it light
and easy.”
“True confessions? I’m intrigued.”
“You should be,” I say coyly. “It’s going to be a
sexual true confessions.”
He stiffens the slightest bit and I squeeze his
hands in my grip. We need to be open with each other and while the sexual
connection we have is amazing, I know sometimes he holds himself back. I
understand why. Sort of.
That’s where we’re complete opposites. I was the
type who gave it away just so I could feel something, anything, for a little
while. He’d rather box himself up and feel absolutely nothing.
“Fable . . .” His voice trails off and his smile
fades. “I don’t know if I’m up to that yet.”
“It won’t be anything crazy, I promise.” I lean
over our linked hands and bring them to my mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to
his knuckles. “No pressure. Just fun.”
“Just fun?” He brushes his thumb over the top of my
hand and my entire body reacts.
“Always fun,” I
whisper.
Melissa Collins has always been a book worm. Studying Literature in college ensured that her nose was always stuck in a book. She followed her passion for reading to the most logical career choice: English teacher. Her hope was to share her passion for reading and the escapism of books to her students. Having spent more than a decade in front of a classroom, she can easily say that it’s been a dream.
