“So fucking perfect.” His lips brush my knuckles, then he glances at me. “Kind of turned me on, watching you hold him.”
God.The way he says things that make my stomach flutter.
I laugh softly. “Yeah? What about that turned you on?”
Genuinely curious here.
He shrugs. “Not sure. But it made me want to pull you into one of the empty rooms and make our own damn baby.”
What?
Matt has never said anything about wanting kids in his entire life.
Never.
“Since when do you want to have kids?”
He exits the freeway nowhere near home, slowing to a stop at a red light. Then he turns to me. “Since I started picturing them with you.”
I open my mouth to answer, but pause when he heads east.
We need to go south.
“Where are we going?”
He grins. “Don’t you worry about it.”
“Okay…” I say slowly. “So these kids you picture… they’re yours?”
He chuckles and presses on the gas. “Who else’s would they be?” He shoots me a quick glance. “You sleeping around?”
I stare at the side of his face, my smile impossible to suppress.
He loves me.
Growing up, I always imagined love being this big, explosive, grandiose thing. The way the movies portray it.
The drama, the fights, the hero professing his love and catching you just in time, before you’re gone forever, like inThe Notebook.
God, I love that movie.
There was a time when it reminded me of me and Matt. How we drifted apart and then found our way back to each other.
But then we’d break up again.
And he didn’t write me. He didn’t come after me or fight for me.
He watched me walk away.
Every single time. Hewatched me go.
I realize now how silly that was, wanting him to follow, to make some grand declaration of love in the pouring rain, toconvinceme to stay.
How wrong I was.
Love is nothing like that.
It’s not confessing your love in a storm or writing a letter every day for a year.
