Chapter 23 Hannah
HANNAH
My second kiss is much better than my first one.
Thomas sweetly cups my cheeks in his large palms as our lips press together.
For the first time in maybe… ever, my mind goes completely silent as I lose myself in this.
His warm body leans into mine. My palm presses against his chest where I feel his steady heartbeat, the rhythm keeping me grounded .
His tongue slides out, tracing my lip in a slow seductive taunt that sends goosebumps across my skin.
I clutch at his shirt, my fingers digging into the cotton.
My lips part as Thomas slips his tongue into my mouth, our bodies melding together.
It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of as he moves one hand down to my waist, pulling our hips together.
I never want to leave this moment, this exquisite feeling of wholeness where my mind isn't running a mile a minute and telling me to overthink every action or word out of my mouth.
Thomas pulls our lips apart for a moment, letting us catch our breath before pressing two more kisses onto my lips in quick succession. His thumb caresses my cheek, moving back and forth in a soothing motion. When we part, he barely moves, resting our foreheads together.
“That was better than our first kiss,” Thomas states, not leaving room for much argument, not that I’d argue. I wholeheartedly agree as I nod against his forehead.
“Yeah, it was,” I breathe.
Arson chooses that moment to force himself between our legs, pushing us apart in an effort to gather our attention.
“Sorry, Arson,” Thomas says with a chuckle.
He smooths his finger across my cheek one last time before dropping his hand.
We turn, and Thomas slides his palm into mine, squeezing gently.
“I know we’ve been through a lot the last few days, and this isn’t conventional by any means, but I’m excited to see where this takes us,” he says, giving me a goofy grin, showing off both of his dimples.
I take a deep breath as we start walking the gravel path again. “I am too,” I admit, realizing that despite all my current anxiety over every inch of my life, I can’t wait to see what happens next with us. Even if it’s only for a short time until we go back to our real lives.
He squeezes my hand. “Good. Can I tell you something crazy?”
I raise my brow in question. “Sure?”
“I have this weird thing that I like to do.”
I wait for him to elaborate, and he doesn’t for a long moment, so I prompt him. “Okay?”
He takes a deep breath, chuckling on the exhale. “You’re probably going to think I sound ridiculous.”
“I promise I won’t,” I reply. My curiosity is officially piqued, and I need to know what he’s about to say.
“I have lucky underwear.”
Okay, that is nowhere near anything I could have anticipated him saying. I let out the smallest of giggles as I reply, “What makes them lucky?”
“I suppose it’s not one specific pair, and maybe it’s more of a superstition rather than anything, but I think they’re lucky.
” He pauses, waiting for me to say something, and when I don’t, he continues.
“Anytime I need a little bit of good luck, or think something good could be coming, I throw on a pair of my superhero underwear. I have a bunch, but I only wear them when I think I need the extra boost or good vibes. I wore them the day I got accepted to the Police Academy, the day I got Arson, and I wore them on our first date.”
He glances down at me and smiles. “I can keep going, but I think history has proved itself.”
I can’t stop myself from asking, “Even though what happened that night was the worst?”
He shrugs. “I mean, that’s a fair point, but it also brought us together in a way.”
“I suppose you could look at it that way.”
“I’m a glass half full kind of guy, freckles.”
“I’m gathering that,” I respond as we reach the cottage, heading up the wooden steps. Thomas opens the door with his free hand, and Arson darts inside. He guides me inside, and the cool air on my skin feels nice. “How do you decide when to wear them?”
“Sometimes it's a vibe, or if I know something might be happening that I want to manifest good luck for, I’ll wear them.” He shrugs, letting go of my hand to close the door.
“That’s a lot of trust in some underwear,” I respond, heading to the kitchen to grab my water bottle and fill it. A nervous jitter runs through my body. How are we so casually talking about his underwear?
“It is, but they’ve never failed me,” he says confidently.
Arson is already curling up on the couch, flopping down with a low groan. “He acts as if he just worked an eight-hour shift with three foot chases,” Thomas says, gesturing toward his dog.
“Oh, to live the life of a dog,” I say with a smile. The exhaustion is hitting me again, and even though we got a good amount of sleep between yesterday and today, sometimes when things are extra emotional, it makes me need the sleep.
“I’m beat,” Thomas says.
“Me too.”
“Come on, let's get some rest.”
I finish filling my water and follow him toward the stairs.
When Arson sees where we are going, he jumps off the couch and bounds upstairs.
I can hear the soft thud as he hops onto the bed.
Thomas chuckles, and lets me start heading up the steps first. He follows close behind me, resting his palm on my right hip.
His simple touches are so sweet, and it’s helping me to realize how serious he is about all this, about me. It’s reassuring.
Arson is curled up smack dab in the middle of the bed waiting for us.
I grab a change of clothes, knowing I won’t be able to sleep in jean shorts.
I run back downstairs to change and use the restroom, and by the time I make it back, Thomas is shirtless in bed.
I can’t see what he’s wearing for bottoms, but seeing him shirtless sends a shiver through my body.
Now is not the time to get turned on. As much as my body may want and crave him, my mind is not ready yet.
I round to the other side of the bed and pull back the sheets, this time remembering to grab my pillow from home from my suitcase and throw it onto the bed. Thomas turns onto his side, so he’s facing the middle of the bed. I tentatively crawl into the bed, and Arson shifts so he’s not in my space.
I move to lie on my left side and face Thomas. He reaches out, cupping my cheek again before leaning toward me. He takes my lips in a swift, sweet kiss, like we’ve been doing this for years. It’s comfortable, safe.
“I make no promises that I won’t end up cuddling you in my sleep now that I’m not sleeping like the dead, so it’s your last chance to make me take the couch,” he whispers, tracing his fingers over my skin.
I shake my head. “No. I want you here.”
“Then here I’ll stay,” he says, that familiar smile crossing his lips.
My eyes grow heavy almost immediately, and thankfully, sleep takes me fast.