12. Austen
TWELVE
AUSTEN
The clock on the dash read 11:47 when Clint pulled into a parking spot in front of Plot Twist. With it being an evening wedding and the fact that we’d had to drive back from Fort Payne, I wasn't surprised. What did surprise me was how much I didn't want the night to end. We’d danced and laughed and flirted, and for once I hadn’t needed to police myself around him. And that kiss. Lord, that kiss.
I’d spent most of my life dreaming about kissing Clint. He’d been the star of so many fantasies, from the sweet tween dreams of first kiss, all the way to far more adult imaginings. The reality had blown everything else out of the water. I’d forgotten everyone and everything around us and had damned near climbed him like a tree. I might’ve been embarrassed by that, except he’d been right there with me.
We had chemistry. For all that I’d questioned how much of the past two weeks had been real, I didn’t think he could possibly fake that. I’d been reliving that kiss the whole drive back, debating if I was brave enough to do something about what I wanted.
I waited for Clint to come around and open my door, because he’d already fussed at me once for not allowing him to use the manners he’d been raised with. He offered his hand to help me out of the truck. Even after hours of dancing, with exhaustion threatening to pull me under, his touch still sent a zing of awareness straight up my arm.
“Watch your step,” he cautioned, steadying me on the uneven sidewalk.
The warmth of his palm against my lower back stayed with me as we walked down the alley and up the stairs to my apartment door. I fiddled with my keys, hyper-aware of Pepper’s order from earlier to get the mess out of the floor, just in case. I’d done exactly that, as well as changing the sheets. That had been more because they’d needed it than optimism for how the night could end, but now… now the glimmer of possibility had me jingling my keys.
"Would you like to come in for a drink?" The words tumbled out before I could overthink them. "I know it's late, but..."
My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited for his answer.
“A drink sounds great.”
I fumbled the keys, trying to get them into the lock. “Hope you’re okay with wine. I don’t have much else on hand.”
“Wine’s fine.”
I managed to jam the key into the lock before he began to question whether I’d had too much to drink already and let us inside.
Cliff appeared like a shadow, winding around my ankles. I tossed my purse and keys and crouched to stroke along his back.
“How’s my boy?”
“Mrrrooowww.” His rumble of irritation made me smile. “I bet a salmon treat would make up for the indignity of being left alone for a few hours.”
With a sigh of relief, I slipped out of my heels and padded across to the kitchen to retrieve the promised treat.
“Why does he always look like he’s judging me?” Clint asked.
“Because he is. Cliff judges everyone. Don’t take it personally.”
My cat accepted my offering like the pampered prince he was and carried it off to his cat tree beside the window. I turned my attention to the wine, concentrating way too hard on opening the bottle and pouring without making a mess with my trembling hands.
Clint leaned on the other side of the counter, his tie off, collar loosened. He straightened as I circled around and offered him the glass.
Then I lifted my own. “To you.”
“To me?”
“For being the world’s best date. You made this night not just bearable, but truly enjoyable. I had a fantastic time. You handled my nosy relatives masterfully, and put Trevor neatly in his place. So thank you.”
He angled his head in acknowledgement, a crooked smile tipping up one corner of his mouth. “You made it easy.”
“I don’t know about that. But you were fun. You’ve always been fun. That’s something I’ve always appreciated about you.”
We sipped at our wine.
“I had a lot of fun, too. I’m really glad we did this. And I’m glad we could show up the douchecanoe. I’m extra glad because I—well, I don’t actually know if you had any doubts about the fact that y’all split, but I feel like if you did, they’re gone now.”
“No doubts. It was one of those situations where I held on longer than I should have because I just… wasn’t paying the kind of attention I should’ve been. I was too stuck on the idea of us rather than the reality. But that’s long since over.”
“Glad to hear it.”
We both lapsed into silence, back to drinking the wine. Should I bring up the kiss? Straight up ask him if it meant anything? It wasn’t exactly flirty, but I’d never been a woman who could play games. I wanted to know where we stood, even if it wasn’t on the same page.
Spinning my wineglass by the stem, I forced myself to meet his eyes. “So… that kiss. Was that something you felt was necessary just for show? Or…” I trailed off because I didn’t even know how to articulate the alternative.
Clint’s gaze narrowed on mine with laser focus. Very deliberately, he set aside his wine and stepped forward, caging me against the counter at my back, with his arms braced on either side of me. His voice dropped into a low, rumbly drawl. “And if the answer was ‘or,’ what would you think about that?”
Blindly, I set my own glass aside, miraculously not knocking it over as I reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, sliding up to toy with the hair at his nape. “I like ‘or.’”
I had no I idea which of us moved first, but suddenly his mouth was on mine again. There was no audience, no one but us. No question that this was real. Clint kissed me as if he were lost in the desert and I was the first water he’d found in days. He consumed me, overwhelming and arousing with every stroke of his tongue, and I was so here for it.
This was so much better than I’d ever imagined. Because this was Clint. My crush. My friend, who’d been there for me, always. Clint, who I trusted. Clint, who I wanted more than my next breath.
I pressed against his shoulders. He instantly fell back, breath heaving, eyes dark as night as he stared down at me in question. Getting a clearer bead on my target, I moved into him again, rising to my toes and finding his mouth with mine. His hands curved around my hips in a possessive hold that I loved. I began to back him toward the bedroom as I slid my hands up his chest, beneath his suit coat, nudging the garment from his shoulders.
As the fabric hit the floor, it felt as if it reverberated with a whole lot more weight than simply a mere jacket.
Clint lifted his head and stared down at me, hunger in his eyes.
“Austen.”