I laugh, releasing some of the tension in my core. “You’re quite confident.”
“You like it.”
“Well, I certainly don’t object to it.”
We hold our stare for a moment, then two, and he leans down and kisses me softly. Then he slides his tongue into my mouth and deepens the kiss. I enjoy it momentarily, but then realize where we are and pull back.
He bites back a smile. “I’m going to have a hard time stopping kissing you.”
I smile and take his hand. “Well, then let’s go say a proper goodbye, so you don’t have to.”
Love often arrives when you aren’t looking for it. It swoops in on ordinary days and follows you around with every minute that passes. Love is an opportunist presenting ultimatums: fall in love or walk away.
And falling in love with Donavan was easy.
He isn’t my missing puzzle piece, and I never quite liked that expression. But his puzzle just looks really good next to mine. So much of our lives fit. His apartment was only two blocks from mine. He also likes pineapple on his pizza. He thinks protein powder is detestable and tastes like chalk, just like any normal person on the planet. We both need to sleep with the fan on high. He’s fine that I love kids but don’t necessarily want any biological children. I’m fine that he has a ten-year-old named Grayson, and is on decent terms with his ex-wife, Priscilla.
The only thing we seemed to disagree on was the fact that he tilted his head to the left instead of the right when we first kissed. We bumped noses, and I laughed, diffusing the awkwardness of it, but I remember thinking we don’t have any chemistry. I mean, who goes left? Instead, I realized I could just tilt my head to the left, too, and his kiss could ignite my entire world.
Of course, we didn’t run through each item like a checklist, but we did discuss them over dinner, coffee, and shopping for new coats.
When we were shopping that first night, I asked him what he did for a living, and he told me he was an entrepreneur. I laughed and asked what multi-level marketing scheme got him rich.
He looked confused, and it hit me: he’s a real, modern-day industrialist. I said, “Okay, Daddy Warbucks. I want this sweater too.”
It was supposed to be a joke, but he nodded, adding it to our purchase without even blinking at the price tag.
It was cashmere.Good heavens.
I thought it was a front until he took me home to his penthouse. Our apartments may have been two blocks from each other—and I’m not broke by any means—but this man lives in the sky. And he fancies me enough to leave the award ceremony early so he can ravish me in the back of an Uber during the seven-and-a-half-minute drive back to his place.
“He’s pulling up now,” Donavan says, sliding his phone back in his pocket. He’s rich enough for caviar and yuppy rooftop galas in tuxedos but still frugal enough to call an Uber. I love that about him. “Gray RAV4. License plate FYP 1989.”
I follow his lead up the frosted sidewalk where the small SUV waits. Curling my hand over his bicep, I whisper into his ear. “I want you to touch me in the backseat.”
Donavan shoots me a look that tells me he’s accepting the dare. Most Uber drivers ignore their passengers anyway.
As he holds open the door for me, I add for good measure before sliding into the backseat, whispering, “I’m not wearing any panties.”
His eyes roll back, and I mentally prepare myself to feel his fingers against my most tender flesh. I’m giddy as I slide into the seat, until—
“JP?” I’m struck. I haven’t seen him in over a year. Which, in actuality, isn’t that long, but in theory—and considering howmuch has changed since last New Year’s—it feels like a lifetime ago. And based on the circles under his eyes and his missing mustache, he’s lived a whole life in the last twelve months too.
“You two know each other?” Donavan asks. The predatorial look that was on his face just moments ago has evaporated into genuine curiosity.
“Yes, this is JP,” I answer, leaning toward the console against my will. It’s like I just want to be a little bit closer to him. I want to jump in the front seat and hug him and see if he still smells like Christmas. “JP, this is Donavan.”
Donavan’s right eye twitches. He’s irritated I didn’t introduce him as my boyfriend.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, and JP nods, eyes on the road as he merges into traffic. “Did you guys date once upon a time?” Donavan asks with a smile on his face. I can tell his mild irritation has evaporated, and he’s morphed back into my confident boyfriend.
“Well—” I begin just as JP answers, “No.”
My chin jerks back and I feel stupid. I was just his rebound. JP clearly meant something more to me than I did to him. That is how most relationships fail in the long run.
“I knew JP through my sister and her husband,” I explain, but it feels like a half-lie.
“But before that, we met on a plane.” His tone has changed, and I’m reminded of the cheerful JP he was when I first met him. Even still, his correction surprises me.
