When she pulls back to look me in the eye, hers are glittering, the mischief practically spilling from them. My tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip, and her eyes track the motion.Fuck. This might’ve been a bad idea. Because now I’m staring at her mouth, and I forget whatever she just said.
“Hmm?”
Her body is against mine again, her lips brushing my ear, and my eyes are definitely closed, my mind racing with what it would feel like to have her against me like this in another setting. One where I’m free to touch her back.
“Do you mind letting me out? I need to hit the ladies’ room.”
It takes me a minute to make sure I’m safe to stand up, and she actually fucking winks at me as I prep to stand and let her out.This little brat.
While she’s away, Alex presses me for the latest update on our little operation, and seems proud of me at what I’ve accomplished on my own so far.
“Not bad, Aaron,” is all her mouth says, but her eyes tell me she’s impressed.
Gemma’s back before I’ve noticed her return—guess I’m a little distracted tonight—and before I can stand back up to let her in, she plops down. On. My. Lap.
My eyes widen in shock as I briefly contemplate whether she’s trying to kill me, or just experimenting with how far she can push me, trying to see if I can be trusted with my declaration to her last night. Right now, I’m not sure I trust myself to stickto it, but fuck, I need to. I need her to know I’m serious about what’s best for her, and I’m going to be it. Even if I’m not there yet.
She glances back at me briefly, I think to make sure I’m still alive (I may or may not have stopped breathing temporarily), a mischievous little smile on her face when she takes in the pain on mine, and then keeps chattering away with Alex, nursing nothing but waters, letting me partake as much as I want. She seems content just to be in mine and Alex’s company, nothing else needed to make this a good time for her.
After a few minutes of her seeming entirely too comfortable, very at-home on my lap, she leans back, settling in against me, and lifts my hands to rest them on her hips. Hoping she didn’t hear what would probably be called a squeak leave my lips at the new contact, but I’ll be generous and refer to it as something…manlier. Let’s call it a surprised grunt.
A couple of my fingers might stroke along her sides, soothingly, definitely not trying to cop a feel, and I try my best to keep my thoughts—and my wandering hands—friendly.
I’d be lying if I told you I had a goddamn clue of anything else that happened in the club or even at our table for the rest of the night, because my brain short-circuited from the feel of her ass in my lap, tight against me, with just a couple layers of fabric keeping the situation this side of appropriate. One of my hands stayed glued to her left hip, my right one wandered forward, wrapping around her flat stomach, holding her as close to me as I could justify in my mind. I know she wiggled around a bit, talking enthusiastically with Alex, probably catching up on work shit, the new season, or maybe they were discussing recent discoveries on anthropology, I wouldn’t know.
But by the end of the night, I’ve had a few more drinks than usual to give me something else to focus on. She walks me to thecar, one of her arms wrapped around my middle, one of mine thrown over her shoulders—as a friend would do.
Then I feel her reach into my front pocket, and my eyes bug out for a second. She laughs innocently at the look on my face and pats the outside of the pocket. “Just returning something that belongs to you. Happy Birthday, Stone.”
I don’t have the guts to check my pocket until she drops me off at my place, my self-appointed DD. Gives me another excuse to show up at her house tomorrow, to get my car back.
Something small, hard, and slightly warm greets my fingers.
The key to her place.
And with it, permission to be close to her whenever I want.
It’s the best birthday of my damn life.
THIRTY-THREE
AARON
I make good use of my new privileges. I wake her up with coffee, an almond croissant, and fresh peonies the next morning.
According to my phone (which is never wrong), her shark week starts today. It’s been four whole months since the last time I did this routine, what was our usual for so many years. I know she saw my Romania post two months ago, but I missed last month entirely.
I will say she hasn’t been as…touchy as she usually is before her period, but maybe that’s just because we had such an emotional couple of days, maybe it threw her for a loop.
A shy smile graces her gorgeous lips when she makes her way downstairs to start a cup of coffee in her Keurig machine around seven AM and finds me waiting in her kitchen, leaning with my back against her small counter, legs crossed one over the other, two gifts for her in hand. A little blush crosses her face, I think it’s at seeing me in her place on my own doing. She used to come over to my place every day, this is kinda new territory for us. Even though I had a key for years, can’t say it ever got much use.
Then again, those rosy cheeks might be because she’s wearing a little slinky silken pajama set, short shorts and some strappy shirt, in this ivory color that does things for hercomplexion. I take a second to appreciate how good she looks first thing in the morning, and yup, that pink in her cheeks deepens.
“God, your future man is one lucky bastard, you know that?” I tell her as she walks up to take what I’m holding out for her.
Her head drops forward, her tiny messy bun (still a disaster from sleep) topples forward too, and she takes a sip of the coffee I hand her so as to deflect the attention. She’s such a character, my Gem. So beautiful, can be so playful, the way she teased me last night in front of our friend (and her friends, for that matter, not to mention the rest of the club), but so shy when the attention is on her. I want to find all the ways to make those cheeks turn pink for me.
“What’s in that?” Her chin lifts toward the white paper bag in my other hand.
