His jaw clenched hard enough to make a muscle pop. He removed his hand from her back and stepped away from her, leaving a cold, empty void between them. It was the angriest she’d ever seen him, which was saying a lot because he’d been downright furious the night she ambushed him at Old Joe’s. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“Colton—”
“Because that?” He cut her off with a point. “That sounded exactly like your family.”
“I just think you need to be realistic.”
“Realistic.” He spat out the word like it tasted bad. Then he rolled his lips in and out, nostrils flared, before finally reaching some sort of conclusion. She held on to the edge of the counter behind her for support, bracing herself for what was to come. Here it was. The moment when he finally came to his senses and realized he should have just let her pick up her shoes and run again.
But when he finally spoke, there was no anger in his voice. No condemnation. Just resignation. “Am I wasting my time with you?”
“Wh-what?”
“Just tell me now, Gretchen. Because it stung when you ran out on me before, but this time might hurt for a long, long time. So just tell me before I let myself fall for you more than I already have.”
Her knees wobbled. She tried to talk but couldn’t. The lump in her throat made even breathing impossible.
He stepped closer again. “Tell me if I’m the only one here that thinks we have something good and real.”
“You’re not,” she whispered. “But—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “No buts. I know this is what you do. You’re afraid of getting too involved because you don’t trust people easily, so you either look for reasons to run away or try to provoke someone into pushing you away.”
That . . . that wasn’t true. Was it?
“But I’m not them, Gretchen. I’m not like your family. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I’m in. All the way. So what do I need to do here? Do I need to slip you a note in study hall to ask you to be my girlfriend?”
Against all odds, a laugh worked its way past the chaos in her chest and the lump in her throat.
He tilted his head, the expression in his eyes a mix of innocence and naughtiness. “Can I take that as a yes?”
“I—yes?” She didn’t mean to voice it as a question, but her voice had to squeeze through a clogged pipe of jumbled emotion.
“Good enough.” Colton nodded. And then he kissed her. Not one of those sweet, gentle kisses from when they’d first arrived. It was a get a room kind of kiss. A bend her backward against the counter kind of kiss. A please don’t let anyone walk in right now kiss.
No such luck.
Mack’s voice intruded. “Christ, it’s about fucking time.”
“Oh my God.” Gretchen wrenched away from Colton and turned around against the counter. “Can you please shove me into the garbage disposal?”
Colton hugged her from behind and chuckled against the top of her head. “Welcome to the family.”
A surge of footsteps and laughter followed Mack into the kitchen. No one paid them any attention. No one except Mack, who slipped a surreptitious wink in their direction before planting a loud kiss on his wife’s mouth. Around them, children ran and glasses clinked and Vlad bellowed “Ho ho ho” again and Cheese Man fed Michelle, and they were just there. Leaning against the counter. Part of it.
Part of the family.
“Hey.” Colton nudged her with his elbow.
She looked up at him, warmth spreading through her belly at the look in his eyes.
“I just have one more question,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Your place or mine?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Now this was how Colton liked to wake up.
Naked, warm, and pressed against a woman who’d blown his fucking mind but who was an absolute mess when she slept.
In romance novels, characters always woke up gazing longingly at each other, the rising sun casting a warm glow upon their features and sending a rainbow of color into their shiny hair.
Gretchen was none of those things.
Her face was smooshed into the pillow at an awkward angle, sending one cheek into a contorted puff above her parted lips. Her hair was no adorable mop of bedhead. It was a tangled fright, some of it twisted atop her head on the pillow and some draped across her forehead. A dark smear of mascara gave her face a gothic shadow. He couldn’t be sure, but there might also be a spot of drool on the pillow next to her mouth.