“Why are your clothes so soft?” he asks as he gently begins to inch up my top.
I laugh lightly, as I raise my arms up. “Lots of alpaca wool.”
His lift continues. “Why only solid colors?” he asks.
“Easy to mix and match.” I’m getting breathless. “You complaining?”
He flings my top to the floor. “Not at all. Those off-the-shoulder things? The mock turtlenecks. They all drape against your body. Covering everything, and clinging to and showing, and teasing everything. Argh, those soft, flowy pants you’ve been wearing that sway against your ass? Been killing me since Puerto Rico.”
My arms reach around his neck and pull him down. I’ve needed his weight against me again, but I haven’t been ready until now. “We done talking about my wardrobe?”
“I sure hope so.” His lips brush against mine.
His patience and sweetness have been everything, and I know most guys wouldn’t have waited this long without obvious frustration or irritation, but David has saved me during this goddamn dark time, and he’s solidified the connection I felt from the moment we met in Puerto Rico. I’m just finally ready to accept it. Embrace it.
We kiss for what feels like forever, his lips both gentle and fervent, until I push him away only slightly. “I’m sorry that I’m not the same girl you met. That I’m all fucked up. But I’m trying. I want to be whole again.Meagain.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I get it. Patrick is dead. You get to be devastated.”
He wipes away tears that I didn’t know were falling.
“Yes, Patrick is dead.” I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to think this and say these gross words before it’ll sink in.
Dave somehow understands that it’s almost how I now have to end nearly every sentence.
“I can’tnotbe with you any longer because of that. And I want to be Prince. I want to turn this hard rain into something spectacular. With you.”
“Let’s make that happen,” he breathes against me. “But are you sure you wantthistonight? Us? Like before?”
“Vacation Us?” I grind up into him. “Yes.”
“Yes, but also, no. We’re not just Vacation Us now, are we?” His hand roams up and down my body. “We’re more.”
He’s right.
“We are,” I agree. Or admit. “But is it wrong to want to get lost?” My shaky breathing might be clouding my thinking.
He moves his hand and sweeps my hair behind my ears. “Not at all. There’s a good way to get lost and a bad way. It’s still okay to have fun. To live your life. To feel good. It doesn’t mean you’re abandoning your friend or your grief.”
He’s so right.
“I guess that I could get lost in a good way,” I agree. But I have to challenge him. “Are you ready?”
This proposal feels very Patrick approved.
Even though Dave doesn’t reply, I keep talking. “Can I tell you something?” I ask. “As much as I hate and am terrified by the wordromance, I wouldn’t mind some. I’ve never really hadit.” I slap a palm against my forehead. “Ugh, that feels like an embarrassing confession I should have kept to myself.”
“I love that you told me that.” His mouth brushes against mine as he whispers sweetly, “And I’ll do whatever I can to bring all the romance.”
“I want it so much. With you. I want to fall in love. Maybe I already have. And I’m so damn scared.”
“And maybe I already have too. Fallen. Crashed into smithereens when I landed.”
I move Dave’s hand between my legs. Inside me. Not only do I want to feel him again physically, I want that emotional connection that comes when we’re together. The one I tried to deny in Puerto Rico.
“Kiss me and drive me crazy again?”
“Just once?” he asks with a smile before he lovingly moves his mouth and tongue against mine until it feels like time explodes and we are so beautifully lost together. Gone for what feels like ages.
