He looks down at me with an expression that makes my chest ache, knowing what’s coming. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“So,” he says, his breath warm against my ear, “what was so important that you had to tell Brielle before leaving yesterday?”
It takes me a second to remember the excuse I’d given him to avoid our intimate encounter. “Just girl stuff,” I say vaguely, spinning in his arms to face him. “You know how it is.”
“I definitely don’t,” he laughs, “but I’ll take your word for it.”
His fingers trace patterns on my waist through my jacket, and I can feel the heat even through the layers. The way he’s looking at me—like I’m something precious and dangerous at the same time—makes my stomach flip.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to memorize me.”
“Maybe I am.” His voice drops lower. “Is that a problem?”
“Depends what you’re planning to do with those memories.”
Something shifts in his expression, darker, hungrier. “Come here and find out.”
I don’t move. “I’m already here.”
“Not close enough,” he says, and then he’s pulling me against him properly, no space between us. His hand slides up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Never close enough.”
“Gage—”
His lips find mine before I can formulate a better answer. The kiss is sweet, familiar, and charged with all the longing that our teenage years demanded. The kiss starts soft but quickly turns into something else—desperate, consuming. His hands are in my hair as if he were trying to get impossibly closer. He kisses like he’s trying to tell me something words can’t capture, and my body remembers exactly how to answer.
For a moment, I get lost in it, in him, before guilt crashes over me like those waves battering the shore.
GAH! What the hell am I doing?
Technically, it’s our time, but I’m not really the Skyla that belonged to Gage anymore. I’m a married woman, a mother, kissing my ex-husband in a time before he became my husband and then my ex. The temporal ethics are enough to make my head spin.
I pull back, disguising the fact I’m retreating by tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Skyla,” he says, my name like a prayer or a curse, I can’t tell which. “What’s wrong?” His brows knit together, but there’s a darker undercurrent there as if he suspects something. As he should. “Does this have something to do with what happened yesterday? I saw the way Logan was looking at you, touching you, as if we didn’t exist.”
There’s a hard edge to his voice I’ve only heard on the few occasions he’s been rabidly jealous, and I’m pretty sure this falls in that category. The Oliver boys might have made an unholy arrangement to share me, but neither of them likes it. Not that I’m supposed to be with Logan at the moment.
A thought hits me.
Oh my word, what if he knows? Or at least he suspects. Or at the least he wants to rip Logan’s head off. But then, that’s about a once-a-week occurrence if I remember correctly. And that sort of carries on into the future as well.
I press my lips tight, searching for the right words.
“Gage, we will always exist, no matter where Logan is in ourlives.” I take a deep breath, committing to a truth that spans just about every timeline.
Wait—did I just sound too adult? Did I make any sense? Maybe I should offer to rip Logan’s head off with him? I’m sure Gage would appreciate the camaraderie.
Maybe I should lead with the truth? After all, it’s so outrageously delicious it will probably sound as if I’m teasing him.
“Gage, that prediction you made about us getting married? You were right.” I bite down a smile. “We are most certainly going to get married. We’re going to have kids,threeof them.” I leave out the part about having them all at once—or the fact that one of them tries her hardest to end me. No need to give the poor guy a heart attack.
“What?” He leans in, squinting over at me as if wondering if I’m having a medical episode of some kind. If only it were that easy.
