For long moments, we lie tangled together, my weight half-supported on trembling arms as we catch our breath, while possibilities charge the air between us that I’m not ready to name.
When I withdraw from his body, Gabriel winces, and concern fills me. “Did I hurt you?”
He shakes his head, a lazy smile spreading across his lips. “No. It was perfect.”
I roll onto my side, and Gabriel turns toward me, our bodies mirroring each other on the rumpled sheets. His hand finds mine between us, fingers intertwining without pressure or expectation.
“That was different,” he says, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.
I swallow past my nerves. “Good different?”
“Amazing different.” He searches my face. “You stopped holding back.”
The observation catches me off guard with its accuracy.
“I should get up,” I mutter, but make no move to do so. “We have too much shit to figure out to be lazing in bed.”
Gabriel hooks his leg over mine. “Didn’t you just say we had nowhere to be today?”
“I lied.”
He bats his lashes at me. “Five more minutes?”
“Fine.”
As five minutes becomes ten, then twenty, I allow myself to consider a future where mornings like this aren’t anomalies. Where it becomes normal to wake up with Gabriel in my bed.
And for the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to keep rather than discard, to build rather than destroy.
17
My stomach rumbles with hunger loud enough to interrupt the languid make-out session we’d fallen into after a third round of sex, and Gabriel’s fingertips pause their trail across my chest.
“Was that you or me?” Gabriel lifts his lips from my throat, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Definitely you,” I lie, rolling away from him before my stomach can betray me again. “Rich boys and their appetites.”
Gabriel catches my wrist as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To find food before we starve to death.” I glanceback at him, sprawled across my sheets, his hair mussed from sleep and sex. “Not the worst way to go, but I’d prefer to die with a full stomach.”
He releases me with a dramatic sigh, stretching his arms above his head. The sheet slips lower, revealing the trail of dark hair below his navel. “Fine. But I expect breakfast in bed.”
“You might want to lower your expectations.” I pull on a pair of sweatpants from the floor. “My refrigerator isn’t stocked for entertaining.”
With a grumble, Gabriel pulls on his boxers and follows me to the kitchen. “Fine. I remember how empty your fridge was. But there was cereal in the cupboard. We can eat that.”
“Lower,” I tell him.
He frowns. “What, you at least had milk last time.”
I fling open the refrigerator door, revealing a wasteland of condiment bottles, a half-empty carton of milk, and a takeout container so old I can’t remember its contents. “That bad.”
Reaching inside, I grab the milk carton, check the date, and grimace. “Might be closer to cheese by now.”
“Jesus, Saint.” Gabriel moves past me to open the cabinets one by one, revealing the box of stale cereal,a jar of peanut butter, and three bottles of whiskey. “Do you ever actually eat at home?”
“I grab food at the club.” I lean against the counter, watching him continue his fruitless search. “Or I order takeout.”
