I nod, tossing aside the sweatshirt and shimmying down my skirt. “Whenever I would tell someone I like being praised, it was like a knee-jerk reaction to hit me with a ‘good girl.’ And good girl is fine I guess, but it’s not very… original.”
“You don’t like being called a good girl?” he asks, brows lifting. “I happen to know that’s not entirely true.”
I smirk. “It has a place. It’s fine, like I said. But frankly, it’s… generic. I want something that feels tailored or authentic and relevant. Like one time my tattoo artist said, ‘you’re sitting so still for me, I love it’ and I still think about it. That’s why I like the way you praise me. You call me clever, and make specific observations.”
He reaches up to give me a way to steady myself as I climb in. I almost overfilled the tub, so I am very careful as I settle against him, my back to his front. He’s warm and solid, and I just want to melt into him. As I start to float, Wesley wraps his arms around me and keeps me anchored to him as always.
I feel his lips against my neck, and his breath is hot on my skin. “You want to be acknowledged for being impressive, not obedient. I’m not surprised.”
“Well, that’s… okay, yeah, that’s fucking exactly it. Damn,” I blow out a breath on a laugh.
His chuckle vibrates through my back, settling around my heart and squeezing with the happy contentedness of the noise. “Mmm. I’m going to need the name of that tattoo artist.”
“Why, you need a touch-up?” I ask coyly, grinning as his hands tighten against my waist. “She wasn’t my type, don’t worry. I’m much more into the secretive, British, dominant types with great smiles and super sarcastic senses of humor. So… if you know anyone like that, send ‘em my way.”
I expect a teasing reprimand, but he just presses his smile into my skin and holds me tighter.
In the silence that falls, I can sense his worry creeping back in. “You want to ask me to reconsider coming tomorrow, don’t you?”
I can feel his lips stretch into a smile—can hear it in his reply. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes. But you get brownie points for holding back. Do you think the others are having a similar conversation right now?”
“Doubtlessly.”
“It’s a good plan, Wesley. It’s going to work. We all want to be there.”
We finish our bath in comfortable silence—no showerhead shenanigans—and I get out first so I’m the one carefully creeping across the wet tile to hand him a towel. He still climbs out and wraps it around me, though.
As he rubs the moisture off of me, I pull back enough to see into his eyes. Emotions swirl all around me, only sharpened by the pleasure and sweetness of his touch. This feels like the right moment. Finally.
“Wesley, I love you.”
His hand stills, and the softness disappears from his expression.
It’s not the reaction I’d have wanted, but I can’t take it back now. So I inhale shakily and continue, “You don’t have to say it back. You’ve got a lot on your mind; it’s okay. I just… I needed to say it. We’ve done everything we can to plan for tomorrow, but there’s still an unavoidable risk. There’s still some danger. So, I… I need you to know.”
His smile is faint, and he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.
My return smile feels tight. I know I told him he didn’t have to say it back, but now I’m kind of kicking myself for it. I’m, like, 99% sure he loves me too. Why isn’t he saying it?
He steps away, holds out his hand, and I let him guide me back into the bedroom. He sits on the bed, pulls me onto his lap, draping my legs perpendicular to his, and reaches for his laptop.
Uh… He’s going to do more work? Now? I scowl at the laptop, fighting the urge to kick it off to the ground.
But I humor him, watching as he pulls up a folder with a few deft clicks. “Do you remember when I said I remembered every conversation we’ve had?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, because you’ve got a photographic memory or some shit?”
“Not quite… I don’t remember because of how my brain works, or just because I’m particularly smart. I remember because I want to—because I choose to.” He makes a final click, calling up a document, and it takes me a second to realize what I’m looking at, and when I see the usernames, a shiver runs through me.
“This is the first time mermaidav made me laugh.” He chooses another file. “This is the first time you made me laugh so suddenly that I spat out my drink. I had to buy a new keyboard.” I exhale an amused noise through my nose, feeling a heavy prickliness behind my eyelids as he pulls up another conversation. “Thisis the first time we stayed up all night talking—you were in and out, but I didn’t budge from that chair, hoping you’d keep coming back. This is the first time you shared a personal detail—your favorite color. Green, obviously. This is when you first told me a secret. And… this is when I knew.”
“Knew what?” I rasp.
He meets my eye, turning away from the laptop to face me. “It’s always been you—long before we met in person. For me, it’s only ever been you.”
For an instant, the lines of him blur behind a wash of moisture in my eye. I blink it away.
