True to form, Riley was sprawled on the sofa with his hand in his boxers when we returned to the firehouse. He was flipping back and forth between several games, and only grunted when we told him we were turning in for the evening.
Once inside the somewhat enclosed second-floor space that functioned as our bedroom and open-air closets, Sam asked, "Did you notice?"
I was busy taking off my beaded bracelets and bib necklace. "Notice what?"
"Back there. Just now. I was going to ask Riley if he was trying to find his dick but Ididn't. I listened to you."
Turning around as I removed my rose quartz earrings, I said, "That's real progress, Sam."
I withheld a chuckle until the bathroom door closed behind him. After changing out of my dress and into a t-shirt, I heard him rustling in his bedside drawers. He was setting out the equipment to replace his blood glucose monitor's infusion set. The fact that he was standing there shirtless, with the insulin ports on either side of his belly button exposed, said everything about the distance we'd crossed together.
"Hey," he said, beckoning me closer. He folded me into his arms when I approached, and I laid my head on his chest. "I love you. Also noteworthy: your tits look amazing in this shirt."
His hands moved down my back to squeeze my backside as I laughed. "I love you, too," I said. "And…we need to talk."
His chin bobbed against my head. "I know. Let me switch this out, and then we'll get comfortable."
I retreated to the bathroom and gave Sam some privacy to handle his device. He'd been increasingly open about his glucose monitoring, but just as I didn't want him watching while I bleached the fuzz on my upper lip, he preferred some space.
Once my teeth were brushed and makeup scrubbed off, I joined Sam under the covers. His glasses were perched on the bedside table and his hair was a little wild, and I was angry that I'd spent entire days doubting whether I was enough for this man.
"Get over here," Sam said, his arms spread wide. "And lose the shirt."
"What happened to my tits looking amazing in this shirt?" I crawled toward him. "Besides, I'm not letting you have any boob action until we discuss some stuff."
He drew the blankets over us and tugged me closer. This was my favorite spot in the world, right here with his body warm against mine. I could surrender everything to Sam, and I'd always feel safe and strong and cherished.
"'Letting you'? It's really precious when you try to take the lead," he said.
His lips dropped to my neck, andoh yes,my body was more interested in this than any of the knots in my mind. I shivered, and wrapped my hand around his forearm.
"Are you trying to distract me?" I asked.
"Nope," he said. The word vibrated against my neck, and it rippled through my body.
I was on the verge of annoyed, but then his fingertips started working my back and shoulders, and I realized where this was going. He was softening me up. He knew I was tense, and he was helping me get the words out.
If this was what our forever was going to feel like—ass grabbing and diabetes management, understanding each other beyond words and going to bed before eleven o'clock simply because we liked holding each other—there was no reason for my panic. Relieved tears filled my eyes, and I burrowed further into his arms.
I knew how to love Sam. He was mine, and I didn't need any vintage inadequacy getting in the way.
"I have some conditions," I said. I traced the fishhook tattoo on Sam's upper arm. "But I think…I think we should visit my family in New Jersey for the holiday."
"Tell me more," Sam said, his words muffled as he spoke into my hair. "Walk me through this. I want to hear what you're thinking, and your conditions."
"Remember when I went home for Christmas last year?"
"Vividly," Sam said.
"Then you remember how I wanted to leave because it was awful," I said, and he nodded. "And I told you the next time I was going to Jersey, you were coming with me."
"I admire your follow-through here, but I'm hoping you have another reason lined up," he said.
"I always hated helping out at my family's restaurant. It was a chore that I dreaded, and to me, it was a punishment. A long, boring loop of chopping vegetables, stacking plates, filling baskets of pita bread." I stared at the fishhook and exhaled. "I was the only one who felt that way. My sister, my cousins, they loved being at the restaurant. They knew they belonged there, but it wasn't like that for me."
Sam didn't say anything while I paused, but his hands continued rubbing and pressing along my spine.
"There were a lot of events at the restaurant. Parties, celebrations, feasts. Sometimes I performed traditional Greek songs. Everyone loved it, and playing in front of crowds from such a young age is probably why I never dealt with stage fright. See? There's the silver lining. Remind me of that later."
