His concerned tone has my head rolling to the side to look at him. “No. Hell no, that was … the best,” I say wistfully. He turns his head to look at me, and I’m blown away by the depth of feeling I see in his eyes. It makes me wonder if he sees the same within mine.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says.
“Oh, yeah?”
“You make me a new bed that I will pay for, obviously, when we’re serious. Like, ‘move in, ready for the whole life together’ serious.”
I stare at him, not knowing how to respond. Mainly because after tonight, it feels like we’re already kind of there, which is scary as hell.
“Deal,” I whisper.
His smile starts small, then grows to take over his entire face. He looks gorgeous like this, happy and full of hope. I just want to keep that look on his face. But I can’t guarantee anything right now as much as I want to. I still need time with him, time to learn if we can really be together, if I can trust him with my heart again.
But I’m dangerously close to that point already.
He reaches for my waist, dragging me over his body as I laugh at his playfulness. It’s such a change of pace for both of us that I don’t know how to act.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh this much, Emmerdeur,” he murmurs as he nuzzles my neck. His scruff scrapping deliciously against my skin makes me want round two before I’ve recovered from round one.
“What does that mean? You’ve always called me that, yet I’ve never looked it up,” I ponder. It always sounded so romantic; I didn’t even question it. It was just what he called me, and I loved it.
“I’m not even sure. Uncle Charlie used to say it all the time, and I always thought it was said with reverence, so I just stole it from him.”
“You gave me a nickname, and you don’t know what it means?” I laugh.
“Correct.” He nips at my neck.
“Give me a phone. We’re looking this up.” I swat at his shoulder. He reaches over to his nightstand, grabbing his phone, unlocking it, and handing it to me.
“How do you spell it?”
“E-M-M-E-R-D-E-U-R,” Arlo says in between kisses. I barely focus enough to type it into the search engine.
“Shut up.” I laugh as the long curious question gets answered on the screen.
“What?” He pulls back.
“It’s the masculine version of annoying in French.” I bite my bottom lip to stop from laughing. It’s the most ridiculous and perfect thing I’ve ever seen. It fits us to a T, even when it was supposed to be romantic.
“No, it doesn’t.” He gasps. He looks horrified as I show him the screen. “Oh my god, I’ve been calling you annoying this whole time.”
Laugher bursts out of me.
“Stop, this is so far from funny,” he groans into my neck.
“This is literally the best thing ever,” I say through my laughter. “How fucking perfect is it?”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“I’m telling everyone! You can’t make this up, Arlo.” I giggle. “I’ve gone around hating you for the last fifteen years, and your nickname for me is ‘annoying’. If that doesn’t explain our relationship, I don’t know what does.”
“How fucking embarrassing,” he groans into my neck. “You’re going to tell people about us? About my terribly picked nickname that’s lasted longer than I want to admit?” he asks, sounding all kinds of hopeful.
“Well, we did go on a date at Sal’s. It feels fitting to tell everyone how bad you are at picking nicknames too.” I giggle.
“I lied. Emmerdeur fits you perfectly.” He nips my neck again before kissing the same spot.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I sigh and can’t help but think about how perfect everything feels. I just hope it lasts.
