The only way to fight that feeling is to give Theo shit for it. “I don’t know. Isn’t it technically still a sleepover because we’re sleeping in the same room?”
He gives me an unimpressed look before setting our containers of leftover shrimp scampi in the tiny fridge. “It’s a gray area.”
I cross my arms. “If one of us is sleeping in the same space as the other, it’s a sleepover.”
“Then we don’t need to worry about it, because we’ve already broken the No Sleepovers rule when you slept sprawled across me at the drive-in.”Gotcha, his expression says.
Dammit.Between my birthday and the drive-in, I’ve sleptextremely well cuddled up to him twice now. I fear it’s going to become an addiction if I keep letting it happen.
I motion toward the bed closer to the door. “Fine. You can have that one.”
Walking to the dresser, I set my phone and crossbody bag on the surface. Ikick off my shoes, watching Theo in the mirror in front of me as he slips out of his.
Today has felt very couple-y. After Barb’s Books, we had lunch on a breezy patio, where Theo and I shared two meals because I couldn’t decide which I wanted more. We visited a thrift store, where I tried to talk him out of getting a lamp that looks like a tower of puppies in a trench coat. (“This is literally me,” he’d said, holding it up beside his face. And he’s not wrong, so it’s sitting in the back seat of his truck now.) Then we took a walk in a nearby park (with a not-so-brief pause to make out against a tree) before having dinner on another beautiful patio, where he let me steal bites of his pasta the entire meal.
It’s been effortless and easy, and I hope that means we have a chance of staying friends once this is over—that we haven’t blown it all to shreds with our friends-with-benefits arrangement.
His gaze meets mine in the mirror, and he gives me a curious look. “You okay?”
My voice comes out wobbly as I blurt out my thoughts. “Do you think we’ll still be friends when this is all over?”
That question seems to surprise him. “Why wouldn’t we?” He walks closer, watching me in the mirror.
“I don’t know.” I scan our reflection. “After all the different chapters we’ve been through, it’s hard to picture what that would look like.”
His chin comes to rest on my shoulder, arms around my waist. “In an ideal world, what would it look like to you?”
Color seeps into my cheeks. “Today was nice.”
A soft hum. “It was.”
“So something like that? Without the kissing at the park?”
Something seems to shift behind his dark eyes. After a moment, he says, “Right. Friends, minus the kissing.”
“Friends, minus the kissing,” I repeat. “Once this is over.”
His lips drag over the soft spot between my neck and shoulder. “But until then?”
No guilt, no emotions.“Until then”—I tip my head back to give him more access—“we take full advantage.”
A deep, needy sound rumbles out of him. His hands slip under the hem of my shirt to wrap around me and pull me right against him, igniting a pool of heat low in my belly.
Some foggy part of me wonders if I’ll even be able to give this up. Will thiswantingfeeling fade right away? Or ever? I’ve never wanted like this—so greedily and viscerally that I feel like I’m drowning in it. Is this how he felt in his last friends-with-benefits situation? I don’t know what I’m doing here or what it’s supposed to feel like. Is it always so consuming?
My breaths are quick with anticipation. He grips the bottom of my shirt and steps back to pull it off and toss it aside. Iwatch his reflection as he devours the sight of me, his gaze trailing down my neck, to the green lace covering my breasts.
“You’re beautiful, Fable.” His eyes are shining with something I can’t identify, but it shoots straight into the chambers of my heart and glows there.
Slowly, his fingers curl around my bra strap, then pause, waiting for permission. Inod, breathless, before he slips it down my shoulder. He does the same with the other side, then unhooks the back, and the bra falls to the floor. Cool air sweeps over my skin and tightens my nipples.
“I can’t... I...Fuck.Look at you.” Theo lets out a low groan, gaze flickering everywhere at once. His hands hover but don’t touch, almost like he can’t decide what to do first.
I’m topless in front of the mirror, my breasts practically begging for his attention, but he chooses to focus on my tattoo first. With the lightest touch, he starts at my wrist, trailing his fingers up, swirling and curving around the flowers, caressing them like he wants to be gentle with the delicate petals, and it lights me aflame.
“I love this tattoo,” he murmurs, his eyes tracking his path. There’s a twitch in his jaw, desperation in his eyes. “Do you have plans for more?”
Swallowing thickly, I barely manage to form words. “I want some tulips, I think.”
