“No weirdness perceived,” I assure.
Together we walk to the living room. Early evening sun streams through the large window. The Beach Boys plays from a speaker on the side table.
Klein places the last of the game pieces in the box. His eyes zero in on me. “Your grandma won. She has no mercy.”
“No fucks given,” she sings out from the far side of the couch.
“Grandma,” I admonish, but it’s playful. She’s wearing her happy smile.
Through the living room window I spy my mom and Ben, sitting on the padded wicker love seat sharing a cocktail.
“You ladies look beautiful,” my grandma says, smiling at us.
“Why don’t you come, Grandma? Mix it up with the bridal party?” Sienna sits beside Grandma and takes her hand.
Grandma waves her off. “You must be joking. That group can’t handle me.”
Klein stands, coming to me in the center of the room. The look on his face is predatory. He twirls me around once, a slow revolution. “You’re beautiful.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s something,” he whispers. “You’re something.”
I press into him, lightly.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened between us earlier. Even though I planned it, even though I spent the ride from the bridesmaid’s house thinking it through, it somehow managed to surprise me.
By the time I made it to our bedroom door, I’d second-guessed myself and had nearly talked myself out of it. But then there Klein was, lying on the bed wearing a towel, and my rational thought disappeared.
There wasn’t an ounce of me that didn’t want to have him in my mouth, to feel him unravel on my tongue.
And then I did exactly that. And it was... phenomenal. I meant what I said, that before today, that act had been a boyfriend perk.
But there’s something about Klein that makes me want to come out of my skin, to shed the person I’ve known myself to be until now. He makes me want to try new things. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel judged by him. It’s safe. He’s safe.
Though I admit, looking at him now, the emotions he’s eliciting? They are dangerous.
We’ve agreed to have fun this week, but like Klein said earlier, that doesn’t mean our heartbeats can’t quicken their pace around one another.
Is that what this is? Thrill?
Klein nuzzles the side of my head. “You’re having some deep thoughts, Royce.”
“Tell me, Madigan, how could you possibly know that?”
“When you’re thinking hard about something, your lips pucker the tiniest amount”—he draws a finger across my lips—“and your eyebrows draw together in the center.” His touch ghosts the bridge of my nose, smoothing the skin between my eyebrows.
“I was thinking about earlier,” I admit.
“What about it?” Low and grumbly, his voice vibrates over my skin.
My hand runs up his arm, then back down, fingers intertwining with his. “How much I liked it.”
“I liked it too.”
My mind plucks the memory, serving it up to me. Thick and heavy in my throat, the way I had to relax my muscles to accommodate him. “I remember.”
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. The man hasn’t had a single drink, but the way he’s looking at me now, there’s a drunkenness to his eyes, a haze.
