Our lips move passionately together as we struggle to pull ourselves closer, wanting to find that perfect connection with our bodies that we’ve just found with our mouths. He works his mouth against mine delicately, yet fiercely, and I match him movement for movement. I release several moans and even more breaths and he drinks each one of them in with his mouth.
We kiss and we kiss in every position possible, and remain as restrained as we possibly can. We kiss until I can no longer feel my lips, and until I’m so exhausted and spent that I’m not even sure if we’re still kissing when he presses his head to mine again.
And that’s exactly how we fall asleep—forehead-to-forehead, wrapped silently together. Because nothing else is spoken between us. Not even an apology.
I turn over to inspect the bed, half thinking what happened last night was a dream. Holder isn’t here, but in his place is a small gift-wrapped box. I push myself up against my headboard and pick up the gift. I stare at it for a long time before I finally lift the lid and look inside. It’s something that looks like a credit card, so I pick it up and read it.
He bought me a phone card with texting minutes. Lots of them.
I smile, because I know the significance of this card. It all lies within the message that Six sent him. He plans on stealing her girl, and he also plans on using a lot of her minutes. The gift makes me smile and I immediately reach to the nightstand and grab my phone. I have one missed text and it’s from Holder.
You hungry?
The text is short and simple but it’s his way of letting me know he’s still here. Somewhere. Is he making me breakfast? I go to the bathroom before heading to the kitchen and brush my teeth. I change out of my tank top and pull on a simple sundress, then gather my hair up in a ponytail. I look at my reflection in the mirror and I see a girl who desperately wants to forgive a boy, but not without a hell of a lot of groveling first.
When I open the door to my bedroom, I’m met with the smell of bacon and the sound of grease sizzling from the kitchen. I walk down the hallway and around the corner, then pause. I stare at him for a while. His back is to me and he’s working his way around the stove, humming to himself. He’s shoeless, wearing jeans topped with a plain white sleeveless t-shirt. He already feels at home again, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“I left early this morning,” he says, talking with his back still to me, “because I was afraid your mom would walk in and think I was trying to get you pregnant. Then when I went for my run, I passed by your house again and realized her car wasn’t even home and remembered you said she does those trade days the first weekend of every month. So I decided to pick up some groceries because I wanted to cook you breakfast. I also almost bought groceries for lunch and dinner, but maybe we should take it one meal at a time today.” He turns around and faces me, slowly eyeing me up and down. “Happy Birthday. I really like that dress. I bought real milk, you want some?”
I walk to the bar and keep my eyes trained on him, trying to process the plethora of words that just came out of his mouth. I scoot out a chair and take a seat. He pours me a glass of milk, even though I never said I wanted one, then slides it to me with a huge grin on his face. Before I can take a sip of the milk, he closes the gap between us and takes my chin in his hand.
“I need to kiss you. Your mouth was so damn perfect last night, I’m scared I dreamt that whole thing.” He brings his mouth to mine and as soon as his tongue caresses mine, I can already tell this is going to be an issue.
His lips and his tongue and his hands are so incredibly perfect, I’ll never be able to stay mad at him as long as he’s able to use them against me like this. I grab his shirt and force my mouth against his even harder. He groans and fists his hands into my hair, then abruptly lets go and backs away. “Nope,” he says, smiling. “Didn’t dream it.”
He walks back to the stove and turns off the burners, then transfers the bacon to a plate lined with eggs and toast. He walks it to the bar and begins filling the plate in front of me with food. He takes a seat and begins eating. He’s smiling at me the whole time, and it suddenly hits me.
I know. I know what’s wrong with him. I know why he’s happy and angry and temperamental and all over the place and it finally makes so much sense.
“Are we allowed to play Dinner Quest, even though it’s breakfast time?” he asks.
I take a sip of my milk and nod. “If I get the first question.”
He lays his fork down on his plate and smiles. “I was thinking about just letting you have all the questions.”