I woke slowly,fading in and out of consciousness as the muted golden light of sunrise sim trickled into Freddie’s pod. I was nestled against him, the small spoon, where I’d slept the entire night through. Trying not to wake him, I rolled over. A smile spread across my face while I watched him sleep, his lips slightly parted, his long lashes feathering out over his cheeks. Because it was there and firm and warm, I kissed his bare chest, and then I did it again, and again, until he began to stir. “Good morning,” I whispered against his skin once his arm tightened around me, his lips pressing a kiss into my hair.
“Good morning,” he said sleepily, his eyes still closed while he pulled me over on top of him.
I sat up to straddle him, then I urged him up with me until his chest met mine, until I was cradled in his lap. He opened his eyes and ran his hand up my back. I thought back to when we’d been this way before, this close. Podgate.
Even then, I thought, even when the flood of hormones had driven me out of my mind, a part of me knew that I loved him. I think I’d loved him when we’d stared at ourreflection in his mirror. I’d loved him when I watched him bake cookies for Sai. I’d loved him in his bow tie pajamas, when he read poetry to me, when he supported me and waited for me and understood me in ways I didn’t understand myself. Maybe even when he walked into that bar on the CAK with mischief and promise dancing in his eyes. Maybe I’d loved him even then.
Running my fingertips along the line of his jaw, I asked, “Did you sleep well?”
He leaned in, kissing my neck, his body still so warm and soft from sleep. “Yes. You?”
“I did. Thank you. I love you.”
His laughter brushed over my shoulder. “I love you too.”
What was it about saying those words when I truly meant them? And hearing them when they were truly meant? It was addictive. I nearly said them again when his techPad alarm chirped.
“Ugh,” he groaned, his hands sliding down to cup my ass. “I forgot to turn it off.”
“I’ll get it.” Leaning over to open the drawer of his nightstand, I fished around for his techPad. But when I sat up again, I brought something else back with me. There was a shoe in his nightstand.Myshoe. The black pump I’d lost in the hotel hallway during our first night together. The one he’d taken when I’d taken his tie.
“You,” I said, staring at the shoe like it was some glowing, priceless artifact, “keep this in your nightstand?”
“I do,” he replied, kissing my neck again, my shoulder. “But not all the time. Sometimes I sleep with it cradled in my arms. It’s my prized possession.”
Placing the shoe back on his nightstand, I laughed at him, and at myself. “I sleep with your tie under my pillow, sometimes wrapped around my hand. Or my neck.”
“Sunny.” His head rose, his full, pink lips aligning with mine. “I would pay every single credit in my account to see that.” And then he kissed me, deep and slow, his fingers pressing into my hips, mine sliding into his hair. He broke the kiss, color tinting his cheeks when he said, “There’s something else in that drawer for you. I’ve, um, been saving it.”
“Really? Is it a present?”
“Kind of,” he said, his lips twisting adorably.
Grinning at him, I pushed him back down to the bed, leaning over to reach into his drawer again. “Where is it?”
With his hands running up and down my thighs, he said, “Under the techPad. It’s a?—”
“Digcard?” I sat back up, bringing the card with me. “This one?”
“I went to the hotel gift shop right after I left your room that night,” he said, “and I bought this card. I just never thought I’d get the chance to give it to you.”
“You’ve been saving this for all these months?”
He nodded, a corner of his mouth pressing into a shy smile.
“Is this something you do after all of yourSqueehookups?” I asked, trying to play off the way the card trembled in my fingers, the lump rising in my throat, the pressure stinging my eyes.
“Believe it or not,” he said, “you were my first, only, and hopefully last one-night stand.”
“What?”Who only had a single one-night stand? And he’d been so good at it.“You must be joking.”
He laughed. “I mean, I’d openedSqueebefore, scrolled through suggested matches. But it wasn’t until I saw your profile that I changed my status toavailable. And even then,”he said, not laughing anymore, “I knew right away that one night with you would never be enough.”
My heart swelled, so full of love for him I thought it might burst. I wanted to tell him, make him understand how he’d made me feel. But the words wouldn’t come.
“It’s okay,” he said, squeezing my hand that still held the card. “Read it.”
Tearing my gaze from his, I swiped my finger through the digital photo of the CAK’s Central Park, through the hedge maze in the shape of Brock Karlovich’s face, and I read.
