I nod.
“I feel like I should respond to that somehow.”
“No.” I run my hand through his hair. “I just wanted you to know. And now you do.”
“Thanks,” he says softly.
I smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Why?” he asks.
“I’ll make you a list, but in summary, I think you’re amazing, and I’m glad you’re in my life.”
“The list would really be helpful,” he says.
I kiss him gently. “I know, and you’ll get it. It’ll be long, though, and it might not make sense, but I promise, there are plenty of reasons.”
“It’s not like an equation, is it? It’s more of a feeling?” Deacon asks.
“It’s a lot of feelings, and they do add up, but no, I don’t think I can compare it to math.”
“Can you be happy with me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Completely happy?”
I understand what he’s asking, and he has every right to ask. The answer is still yes. But there’s a caveat:eventually. I’m not over Evan. I haven’t been able to wrap my mind around a life he’s not an intimate part of. I don’t doubt I’ll move past it. Everything feels unbalanced now with Jake living here and my erratic work schedule, buteventuallyI’ll ease back into normal—or a new normal.
Instead of answering Deacon’s question directly, I pivot. “I’d be happier if you stayed the night more often.”
“That’s not?—”
I cut him off with a kiss and lean into him, pinning him to the sofa. “I know it’s not. But it’s true.”
His hand lands on my hip, and I slide one of mine up the front of his shirt, my fingers climbing the rungs of his abs like a ladder as they quiver beneath my touch. “Would you be happier if he were here?” he asks.
“Only if he was happy to be here,” I say. “And if you were.”
“Would you choose?” he asks.
“No. You already have my choice. You both do. It hasn’t changed.”
“You want us both.”
“I want you both. But I love you, and I won’t let you go.”
“I wouldn’t go,” he says.
In a move that’s not like me at all, I swing my leg over his lap, suddenly desperate to be closer to him. As close as possible. I kiss him again for saying he’d never leave me. I get that tomorrow isn’t a given, and no one can tell the future, but itisthe thought that counts sometimes, and, in Deacon’s case, the words. The words always count so much more from him.
I wish mine meant as much to him, but I know what does. With my hand tightening over his pec, I deepen our kiss, and he shifts beneath me, grabbing hold of my ass to slam our cocks together. He does give a nod to being in a relationship with me by always changing out of his work clothes when he gets to my apartment, so we’re both in sweats and long-sleeved t-shirts. I feel him hardening beneath the thin layers of fleece, and I move against him to catch myself up.
On the list I’ll give him, this will be on there—somewhere close to the top where I mention how good of a cook he is, and how gorgeous I find his eyes. He’s so. Fucking. Sexy. Even better—he thinks I am, too.
“I’m not fucking you out here again. Jake almost saw last time.”
“Then take me to bed,” I tell him.
