“Wow,” I manage, after a long silence punctuated only by the heaviness of our mutual, run-ragged breaths.
“Wow,” she agrees.
“Is it always gonna be like this?”
She presses a kiss to my ear. “It better be.”
I turn to face her properly, trying to take a mental snapshot of this moment: Marigold wreathed in the silver glow of streetlight cast through her window, sex-flushed and tousled. She’s a perfect image from my every fantasy, only better, because this is actually real.
I don’t know how we ended up here.
But I’m so glad we did.
16
Marigold
The space between us now is closer than it’s ever been. Jamie has his fingers intertwined with mine, his forefinger shifting slightly like he’s tracing the inner contours of my knuckles. The whisper of his breath on my lips is quiet and comforting, somehow. I feel it in his chest, too, where my arm rests curved around his waist. I wish I knew what he was thinking behind those sea-glass eyes, half-lidded and watching me with dark pupils.
I trace the swell of his lips, soft and still damp to the touch.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits, and a warm flush surges through my chest.
“Me too. Way too long.”
He smiles like he’s actually relieved, like some part of him still thought—after all this—that I’d say anything else. “I tried so hard to hate you. I really did.”
“You did a terrible job at that.”
“Clearly.”
He kisses me again, and when our lips part, he tucks a fallen lock of my hair behind my ear.
“Now, you just have to promise to stop being an asshole all the time,” I say. “Think you can manage that?”
“I don’t know. That might be too much to ask.”
“Dick.”
“Jerk.”
“Buttface.”
He takes a beat. “Buttface?”
“If the shoe fits!”
He slips an arm around my waist and tugs me in closer. I feel like a puppy nestled against the warm belly of its mother. Which, now that I think about it, is a pretty weird comparison. The point is: It’s extremely sweet and cozy.
“So what happens now?” I ask him. “Do we take this whole rivals-to-lovers trope all the way to Stockholm? Will you ravish me backstage after I destroy you in the rankings?”
“Only if you play very, very well.”
“I intend to,” I say.
But there must have been something about my expression, because a sudden frown overtakes Jamie’s mouth. “What was that?”
“What do you mean?”
