“I know. Inside.” He kissed me again anyway. “Just—one more.”
I laughed against his mouth. “Inside. Now. Or I’m going to forget about neighbors entirely.”
That got him moving. We stumbled through the door together, me pulling him by his shirt, him kicking the door shut behind us with his foot.
His bag was still on the porch. We’d get it later.
“Hi,” he said, backing me against the closed door.
“You already said that.”
“But I’m really happy to see you.” His hands framed my face. “Really happy.”
“Show me.”
He kissed me thoroughly, hands sliding from my face to my shoulders to my chest. I pulled him closer, needing to feel the solid weight of him, the confirmation that he was really here.
“I watched all your games,” I said between kisses. “And not just because I’m on the team.”
“I know. Your texts helped.” He pulled back to look at me. His expression softened. “I love that about you.”
“What?”
“The way you—” He stopped, swallowed. “The way you see me.”
“I see you,” I said quietly. “All of you.”
“I know.” He rested his forehead against mine.
We stood there for a moment, just breathing together, the urgency shifting into something deeper.
Then his stomach growled.
I laughed. “When did you eat last?”
“Plane food doesn’t count.”
“I have leftover lasagna. We could?—”
“Later.” His mouth found my neck. “Food can wait.”
“You’re hungry.”
“For you. Not food.”
His hands were already pulling at my T-shirt, tugging it up and over my head. I returned the favor. My fingers found the hem of his sweater and yanked it off, only to discover an undershirt underneath.
“Why do you wear so many layers?” I complained.
“Because you like taking them off.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Sweater off. Undershirt off. His hands on my bare skin finally, and I sucked in a breath at the contact.
“Missed touching you,” he murmured against my shoulder. “Missed this.”
“Upstairs,” I managed. “Bed.”
