“Probably.”
I laughed, the sound broken and wet. Leaning forward with our hands still cradling my face, I rested my head on his chest. I soaked up the feel of his skin, and the way his body seemed to both tense and relax under my touch.
“Baby, I’m not asking you to forget your responsibilities or put me first. I wouldn’t let you even if you tried. Which is why as soon as you get your head out of your ass, I’m going to go over with you and help.”
I shuddered, breathing in his smell and analyzing my mental wall, or in his words, my shell. “Tell me again that you want this, Garrett.”
“I want this.”
I smiled against him, tearing that barrier down piece by piece with both hands. “Tell me you want me.”
He leaned my head back so I was looking at him, and he smirked, fire licking around his irises. “I want you. I’ll tell you every fucking day if you want.”
Rising up onto my toes, I brushed a featherlight kiss to his lips, “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.”
His voice was low and thick, and it vibrated across my lips in a way I never wanted to forget. I wasn’t ready to say those three words back yet, that final piece of wall loosened but still in place. But I wanted to work toward it. Together.
“I don’t want you to run a never-ending race for me. I don’t want to be the kind of woman who expects that. I refuse to do that to you.”
His breath hitched, his hands clutching at me like after everything he’d just laid at my feet, he still worried I’d walk away from him. “What are you thinking then?”
“That maybe we can meet halfway.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
My father threw the ham at me.
Not on purpose of course, but intention didn’t matter much when I was staring down at the splatter of carcass fluids on my breasts, dress, and feet.
One second he was raising it from the counter, and the next he was tripping and launching it at me. It’d barely touched the ground before he was kneeling, grabbing the greasy—probably still delicious—bundle, and turning it like it needed to be checked for injuries.
I hadn’t moved a muscle, my arms still splayed out on either side of me. I was trying to decide if I should be offended by the outrageous cackling and snorts coming from my audience or laugh along with them.
My dad glanced from me to the ham, back to me, “Ten-second rule, right?”
Someone choked, and I looked over to see Layla fanning her face, wine dripping from her nose as my mother lurched across the table for a napkin.
Behind them, through the opening between my parents’ kitchen and the living room, I could make out my brother and Jamie hunched over controllers, arguing over a game and completely unaware of what was happening.
Dropping my arms, I exhaled, blowing out my cheeks. I side-stepped over the sticky mess left on the floor and headed to the roll of paper towels on the counter.
“Don’t worry, everyone, I’m fine. My boobs are still intact, and my dress is only semi-ruined, but I appreciate all the concern.”
I yanked a few sheets loose, patting them over my chest, trying to do what I could with what I had. I couldn’t be too mad about it; I would’ve laughed too. However, this dress really was one of my favorites, so I hoped it’d at least wash out.
“You know, if you wanted meat thrown at your breasts, you could have asked.” The words were whispered over my shoulder from lips hovering a hair’s breadth above my ear. It sent a shudder through me, and I couldn’t help but arch my neck slightly even as I laughed.
“For shame, Garrett Rowe, we’re at a holiday dinner.”