“Right. We were too similar,” I say. “Both competitive, both stubborn, both trying to prove ourselves.”
“And now?”
I trace his jawline with my finger. “Now I think we understand each other better. See past the defenses.”
“I just can’t believe how easy this is. Talking to you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Usually, I’m not great with... words.” Understatement of the century. “But this is nice.”
“Itisnice. Almost makes me think we could have been friends all this time, if we hadn’t been so stubborn.”
“I think so.” He turns his head, catching my finger with his lips. “I like who I am when I’m with you, Syd.”
This feels dangerously close to a deeper emotion neither of us is ready to name.
I’m not sure who moves first—maybe we both do, magnets finally released from opposing poles—but suddenly we’re kissing, his mouth hot and urgent against mine. He tastes like tomato sauce and possibility, his hands cupping my face like I’m something precious.
The kiss deepens, grows hungrier. I’m half out of my chair, leaning awkwardly across the table, but I don’t care. All that matters is getting closer, eliminating any space between us.
“Sydney,” he breathes against my lips.
“Bedroom,” I manage to reply. “Now.”
We abandon dinner without a second thought, stumbling toward the stairs in a tangle of limbs.
At the door, he says, “Are you sure?” He’s always careful, always checking, even as his eyes darken with desire. “Meema could come home—”
“Not till late,” I remind him, backing us through the doorway. “She said not to wait up.”
That’s all the permission he needs. In one fluid motion, he lifts me, his shoulder not flinching at all, which has come a long way, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bed.
21
The Lesson
SYDNEY
We shut the door to keep Gus out—that dog is not watching us tonight—then fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, shirts coming off, and breathless laughter that quickly turns to sighs as his mouth finds my neck, my collarbone, the sensitive spot below my ear that he discovered last night. My hands explore the broad expanse of his back, the defined muscles shifting beneath my fingertips.
Feeling bold, I say, “Teach me,” again, this time meaning something entirely different.
Brooks pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, questioning.
“I want more,” I say. “And I know you know more.”
I don’t like the thought of him with all those other women, but he’s not now, and everything he knows can be put into worshipping me.
As if reading my mind, he says, “None of those women mattered, Syd. This is different.” His voice goes soft. “It’s you.”
My heart flutters, and I feel something shift between us. I meet his gaze, telling him with my eyes what I can’t seem to put into words. His are dark, focused. “So… you sure?”
“Absolutely sure.”
“Do you trust me?” His voice is low and rough in a way that sends heat spiraling through my core.
“That’s a loaded question.” I try for sarcasm, my default setting when emotions get too real, but my voice catches.
