“Muscular?” he supplies helpfully.
“—bumpy,” I finish.
Behind him now, I step close, my chest brushing his back as I rise onto my toes and whisper in his ear, “You’re much bumpier than you used to be.”
Beck remains still. “Uh, I’ve had more free time than usual lately,” he says, trying to keep his voice even.
“Oh?”
I run my fingers up his neck and into his hair, letting my nails scrape. His head drops forward, a breath leaving him in a quiet sound that makes my mouth curl.
“And why is that?” I murmur.
“Well,” drawing it out, “this certain woman hasn’t been around to pester—”
I pinch him.
“Ow! Uh—I mean, distract me with her beauty,” he corrects, a smile in his voice now.
I hum softly, glad he’s playing along. “That’s better.”
“So,” he finishes, “I had more time to exercise.”
“You mean to make yourself more attractive than you already are?”
His head lifts. “You think I’m attractive?”
The disbelief in his voice makes me angry with myself. That I didn’t tell him this sooner.
He tries to turn, but I tut softly and massage his scalp, holding him in place.
He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath for years. I dig in deeper, rubbing slow circles into his scalp and the skin of his neck. Beck moans, low and helpless. His shoulders loosen, dropping as tension drains away. “That feels really nice, Gracie Ann.”
Good.
The awkwardness is leaving us, just as I hoped, as we settle into our usual patterns. Teasing. Comfort. Communication.
I wrap my arms around him and rest my cheek against his back. “I think you’reveryattractive, Beck. I always have.”
“Really?” There’s wonder in his voice. Pure, unadulterated wonder.
This time, when he turns to face me, I don’t stop him.
“Yes, really.” I tilt my head to look up at him. His hair shines in the kitchen light, his eyes warm and kind and a little awestruck, and honestly, he’s beautiful in the way something is when you’ve looked at it a million times, but every time you find something new worth admiring.
“When we were young, you were my best friend and that was enough,” I say. “I don’t know when it changed. Maybe it wasn’t one moment. Maybe it was a thousand small ones. But somewhere along the way, it became this.”
I take his hand.
“Me wanting you. Needing you. Hoping you’d choose me.”
The words hang between us. Fragile. Irreversible.
Beck exhales, a sound halfway between relief and surrender.
He moves forward, pulls me close, and kisses me, like he’s done waiting. I kiss him back, with my hands on his shoulders, until the room spins and blurs and my body aches for him.
Still kissing, Beck lifts me, the way he used to when we were young, right before he tossed me laughing into the community pool, only this time it’s his bed he drops me onto. I sink into the mattress, and he follows, settling his weight carefully over mine, kissing me until I’m breathless. Until I’m begging for more.
