And for the first time in a very long time, I mean it.
The quiet settles around us the moment we step inside Tully’s condo. It’s been a great night, despite seeing Daniel, but now, I’m acutely aware that all the noise that was buffering us from each other is gone. I set my purse down. He sets his keys on the counter. We move around each other carefully. He drops his jacket over the back of the chair and looks at me from across the room with an expression I can’t fully read.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks.
“No, I’m good,” I say.
We look at each other. I ache to close the space between us and kiss him, but I don’t want to push him toward anything he’s not ready for. What Daniel took from us for all these years is a lot to reconcile. I want to give Tully time, or whatever it is that he needs.
“Lola,” he says. Low and quiet.
“Yeah.”
“What are you thinking right now?”
I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “I’m not sure you want to know.”
“I really, really do.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” His eyes glint, and there’s a smirk on his lips now.
My eyes narrow. “What do youthinkI’m thinking?”
“Nuh-uh-uh. I asked you first.”
I bite my bottom lip, and his eyes track it. His mouth parts like he wants a taste.
“I’m thinking I want to kiss you so bad, but I want to give you the time you need…space to?—”
He crosses the room and tilts my chin up. “I don’t want space.” His thumb traces my jaw. His eyes are dark and certain. “I’ve had years of space. I don’t want any more.”
And then he kisses me. Five years of distance, one complicated night, and every single thing we never got to say collide all at once. His hand cups my face, my hands grab the front of his shirt, and we pull each other as close as we can get.
I make a sound against his mouth. He answers it, kissing me deeper. His body presses against me until my back hits the counter, and he feels so good, so solid, so safe.
He smiles against my mouth. And then his lips are onmy jaw, my neck, trailing down, and I stop thinking entirely. We leave a trail of clothes in our wake. My jersey drops near the top of the stairs. He walks me backward toward his bedroom, his hands on my waist and his mouth on my throat. I get his shirt halfway unbuttoned before we make it through the door, and he laughs quietly at my impatience.
“I’ve thought about this more than I should admit.” I push his shirt off his shoulders. “Countless times.” I press my palms flat against his chest, feel his heart under my hands, pounding fast.
Sadness moves over his expression, and then something fiercer. He undoes my bra and lets it fall, his eyes worshipful as he looks at me with his undivided attention.
“I’m not walking away,” he says. “And neither are you.”
“Never again,” I agree.
He maps me like he’s cataloging every inch of me, something he intends to remember. His mouth pauses at my collarbone, my sternum, the curve of my breast. I watch him take in my barbells. His tongue traces the jewelry with a careful deliberateness that pulls a sharp sound from somewhere in my chest. His hands keep me steady, and I sink my fingers into his hair and hold on.
“So fucking hot. You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs against my skin.
“You’re doing fine,” I manage.
He laughs low and tugs on a barbell with his teeth, and I stop being able to form sentences.
“Tully.”
“What do you need, Trouble?” he murmurs against my skin.
