I know the value of what’s standing next to me now, though. Do I ever.
I can’t take back how I hurt him, but at least I seem to make him smile. That’s something.
He’s humming softly with a contented little smile on his face, wiping down a wet plate with the same care he took on my backearlier. Gale is standing to his right, periodically snorting at him. She wants couch snuggles, I can tell, but Remy doesn’t know that. He pauses for the dozenth time, cooing in a sweet voice, asking her what’s the matter.
He asked me when and how I got her. During dinner, when she rested her chin on his thigh and gave him mooch eyes, no matter how many times I scolded her, he just kept laughing and petting her, not bothered in the slightest. I’m in danger of drowning in his cuteness.
It’s going to be too many days that he’s gone—the rest of this week and the weekend for his trip back home to see his family for Thanksgiving. Monday can’t come soon enough.
“What?” He laughs, catching me staring.
Shaking my head, I make a show of wiping down the sink. “Nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing.”
I watch him fold the hand towel and rest it over the dish rack. When he turns to face me, that glowing, unassuming Remy smile is still lighting up his face. The wishes bursting at the seams inside my chest are fighting to get lost in the well of his blue eyes. Could I ever have a chance with him? I want to be greedy and ask if I can graduate from friend and workout partner to…something more.
“I was thinking about how much I want to kiss you.”
“You…want to kiss me?”
Splotches of color pop up on his cheeks and neck. How can he not know when it feels like it’s tattooed on every inch of my skin? I know I’m still not enough for him, but I’m sick of hiding. I hid feelings the first time around, and look at the damage that did.
“I always want to kiss you.”
“Oh.” His puff of nervous laughter dances between us. Glancing down at the sink, his fingertip rubs anxiously through adroplet of water on the counter ledge. “It never seemed like that back in the day.”
The damage I’ve done. The fucking damage.
“I was worried I wouldn’t be able to stop if I did.”
Quivers rack through me until he glances up, the doubt in his eyes replaced by something that looks a lot like surprise. Stepping forward, his tongue peeks out, wetting his lips. I follow his hand, watching it reach up, and don’t exhale until it settles on the side of my neck. I didn’t think my honesty would actually pay off.
When my nephews were young, they used to crack up while watching the cartoon movieFerdinandwhen the oversized bull was tiptoeing his way through a china shop. I never laughed. I could relate too much.
Time comes to a standstill as I lean in. I don’t care if it’s taking me too long. I’m determined to stretch out each second. I refuse to be Ferdinand right now.
The heat of his breath warms my lips. I cradle his forearm and close my eyes, my nose brushing against his. When the plush feel of his lips connects with mine, it’s so soft I wouldn’t know he’s even there if it weren’t for the way I feel like I’ve come home. The sensation flows through me, a celebration of invisible shooting stars coiling around us in figure eights. It’s sweet and soft like a first kiss—or the one we should have had. It’s our do-over.
When I draw back, I rest my forehead against his, bringing my hand up to touch his cheek. His jaw shifts under my trembling touch, and I hear him swallow. Getting to know him again has been more of a twelve-step program than my opioid counseling ever was. Admitting my careless addiction to him to myself, taking a moral inventory, and making amends. It’s all there, just not quite in the same order.
Step 2—We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Remy is my restoration. My return to sanity.
I continue to make amends, gently feathering his lips with mine. His fingers fist a handful of my T-shirt, pulling it tight against my stomach. A beautiful sound tumbles out of his throat, and he parts his lips, capturing one of mine. I feel his tongue sweep against the seam of my mouth and sigh as his fingers delve into my hair at the back of my head. And then he’s tasting me, his tongue slipping against mine as I taste him, melting into each other.
His feet stagger forward, one slipping between mine until our chests are flush. The moan he lets out vibrates through me down to my toes. His cock brushes against my thigh, sending tingles down to mine, seeing if it will wake up. I don’t even need it to. I could lie him down on the floor right here and happily spend hours putting my mouth all over him. But that’s not what this is about. It’s not what I want it to be about. I want to be more than that for him. He needs more than that, deserves more than that.
Squeezing his arm, I ease back, suppressing a groan at his half-lidded eyes and reddened lips. “You’d better go home,” I caution softly, trying to get my breathing under control.
The haze in his eyes clears, and his hands fall away from me. Taking a step back, his hands go immediately into the pockets of his jeans. “I guess it’s still not difficult for you to stop.”
It takes me a second to decipher his words as I stare at the new red splotches on his face. Oh, hell.
Reaching out, I snag his arm before he can inch further away. “You’d better go home,” I repeat tenderly, “so I can dream about kissing you when you get back.”
The tension in his shoulders and expression drains, traded for a radiant smile that has me rethinking the romantic, gentlemanly shit I just said. Monday iswaytoo far away.
