Role Playing(85)

They got close, then closer, then closer still. By the time he was inside her, she could no longer hold on to a thought for more than a second, her body moving on pure instinct, her heart so impossibly full that she thought her chest would burst.

“You all right?” he asked breathlessly, pausing when she froze.

“More than,” she said, then kissed him as he started moving again, grateful for his thoughtfulness even as she felt like she was melting. They moved together, like dancing, until she wrapped her legs around his waist and clutched him tight and shook with her release. He lost tempo, burying himself in her with uneven thrusts until he shuddered and collapsed, propping himself on his arms so he didn’t squash her as his forehead rested against hers. Their harsh, jagged breaths mingled as they looked at each other face to face.

Then she smiled, and he smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“Hi,” he said.

She snickered. “Hi.” Then nuzzled his nose with hers.

He rolled off her, getting up and going to the bathroom, presumably taking care of the condom. She smiled when he came back, all but bouncing her off the bed when he jumped onto it, causing her to dissolve in laughter and grab him to stay on the bed.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asked, grinning like a kid.

She laughed even more, then ran her fingers through his hair. “Yeah. But I get to pick.”

“Then, I was thinking . . . maybe I could make you lunch.” His gray eyes were so gorgeous, and his smile made her feel like she’d swallowed the sun.

“Mmmm.” She kissed him. Because she could. And it felt amazing.

“And then,” he said, cuddling her to his chest, “maybe . . . if you’re up for it . . .”

“We could do that again?” She buried her face in the juncture of his neck and shoulders as he chuckled. “Absolutely yes.”





CHAPTER 36


AND I MUST SCREAM


Aiden woke the next morning feeling disoriented. It was dark, but the clock—a digital crimson readout he didn’t recognize—said it was eight, and even in December the sun ought to be up. He didn’t have blackout curtains at the house he rented. Usually, it didn’t even matter, because he’d be up by seven or so naturally.

So why was he up late, and where the . . .

He took a deep breath, and inhaled Maggie’s coconut-tinged scent. He rolled closer to her, encountering a lump in the center of the bed. It was a comfortable mattress, but old . . . and that lump had been formed by years of two people sharing but not cuddling. It was the demilitarized zone of marriage. He didn’t fit in the divot the previous occupant had left, he realized. Just like he realized that Maggie did not wander from her side either. Rather, she was cocooned in a perfect Maggie-shaped indentation. He could hear her breath whooshing softly. Otherwise she was perfectly still.

Maybe we can buy a new bed. He grinned, thinking about breaking it in. And cuddling with her afterward.

He stretched out. Even if they hadn’t said so explicitly, he was starting a relationship with Maggie, and that was mind blowing. He was still upset about everything that had happened with his mother, and with Davy and Sheryl at the wedding, but at long last it seemed over. Even if they all hated him, he’d tried his best, and he didn’t have to prove himself or try to assuage their feelings anymore. He was himself, completely.

He didn’t have Maggie to thank for that, per se. But her unflagging support, her grumpy, nearly violent brand of friendship, had meant the world, and he appreciated it. And now, this . . . whatever fledgling thing was happening between them . . .

That meant a lot too. That meant everything.

He got up, got cleaned up a bit. Maggie was still sleeping like a rock. She’d been so good about cooking for him, about doing things for him, when he was hurt. He was happy to help. And it wasn’t quid pro quo, balancing the favor scales. He wanted to help, to do things that would make her life easier and make her feel better.

He wanted to do that for a good long time, if at all possible.

He went out, down the hallway from the bedroom, as quietly as possible. Sunlight poured in through the windows. The house was clean, if a little disheveled. There was a blanket and pillow on the couch where they’d watched the black-and-white version of The Scarlet Pimpernel and where they’d made out before taking it back to the bedroom. There was a plushy sea turtle on the love seat, and mismatched throw rugs that still managed to make the place look homey. He took the time to look at the photos on the walls. They were mostly of Kit, her son, he had to assume. A gap-toothed elementary school photo . . . a kid with a buzz cut, holding up a fish proudly . . . him towering over her in a cap and gown, tasseled cords hanging loosely over his shoulders. She was wearing the black dress, he noticed. Her special-occasion dress.

It made him smile.

Her kitchen was a little messy, so he took the time to do dishes, especially when he discovered (with some horror) that she didn’t have a dishwasher. Then he checked out what she’d stocked her pantry with and decided to make pancakes. He liked cooking when it wasn’t just him, and he was looking forward to learning more challenging recipes since it seemed like Maggie was a foodie at heart. Fortunately, he’d memorized his grandmother’s pancake recipe because it was one of his favorites. He was picky about pancakes.

He hoped Maggie liked them too.