9. Henry #2
“No,” he replies. “No, it’s not. Which is why I know that as crazy as it seems, you truly are mine. I don’t know if it was fate or some insane Barnett family curse that brought you to me, but I’m grateful for whatever it was, and I won’t let you go.”
“Barnett family curse?” I question.
His laugh is low and comforting, the sound curling around me like a caress. “No one told you about the crazy way the Barnetts all met their wives?”
I shake my head.
“I don’t know all the details, but this is the gist. The Barnetts have some kind of family voodoo thing where they see the woman they’re meant to marry and fall instantly in love. Like the moment their eyes meet, they just know that that is their person.”
“That’s—”
“Crazy,” he says.
“I was going to say sweet.”
“I guess you could call it sweet, once you get past the crazy part.” Chuckling, he smiles warmly. “Well, after all seven Barnetts found their women, my boss, Buck, met a woman, and the way he tells the story, the first time he saw her, he just knew.”
“Wow,” I gasp. The idea of falling in love just like that is both scary and amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever been that certain about anything, so the thought that I could stumble across someone one day and just know that they are my soulmate feels like a fantasy to me.
“I don’t know if it’s true or just the power of suggestion, but the moment I saw you sitting opposite Parker, it felt completely real to me. When my eyes landed on you, I just knew that you were everything.”
The casualness with which he drops this bombshell shocks me, and for a long moment I just stare at the side of his head, waiting for him to say “I’m only joking” or “That’d be a cool story, right?” but he doesn’t.
He doesn’t take back his confession or try to lessen the significance of his words.
Turning off the road, he pulls into a fast-food restaurant, then turns to face me. “When I said you were mine, I didn’t mean mine for a night or a moment. I meant you are mine for the rest of forever, Henry. Till death do us part.”
My body goes into autopilot while my mind tries to process his words. He orders breakfast for us, then passes it to me, and I eat while my thoughts spin and jumble and whir.
Do I feel like he’s mine?
Honestly, I don’t know. The few things I own, I hoard, coveting them because having anything that belongs to me is still such a foreign feeling. I’m attracted to him. I like him, but I don’t know how he can be so sure about a feeling that I don’t think I even understand.
“You’re thinking pretty loudly over there,” he says, jolting me from my inner turmoil as we slow to a stop outside the garage.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“You don’t need to apologize. I shouldn’t have just thrown all of that at you. I just need you to know what this is and what it isn’t.”
Inhaling sharply, I turn to look at him, imploring him to help me. “I don’t understand.” The confession feels like it’s been torn from my very soul, but it’s the truth. I’m so inept at this because I’ve never had people, let alone a person.
“After work, I’m going to be here to pick you up. I’m going to take you to my place, and after we eat the dinner that I’m going to cook for us, we’re going to sit down and talk about what this is between us. Okay?”
Biting my lip, I consider saying no and telling him that I need time and space to try to figure out what I want.
But even though I might be confused because of my lack of experience, I still know that I don’t want to cut him out of my life.
I want to know him. I want to try to understand what he wants and needs from me and, ultimately, how I can be the person he thinks I am to him.
“Okay,” I agree, nodding.
“Perfect. I’ll be here waiting for you.”
“Okay.” I nod again.
“Kiss me, then go to work,” he says, arching his eyebrow, his lips curved into a smug grin.
Unfastening my seat belt, I lean across the console and gently press my lips to his. Instead of keeping things chaste, his large hand curls around my neck, positioning me where he wants me as he deepens the kiss.
His mouth moves against mine, his tongue teasing me until I’m breathless and all of my conflicting thoughts are soothed and quieted.
The silence is peaceful, and I’m grateful.
When he starts to pull back, I press into him, not ready for this to end, and his pained sigh reassures me that he doesn’t want this to be over either.
“God, Kitten, I want you so much,” he rasps, his voice low and deliciously gruff.
I have no idea where the sound comes from, but I giggle.
His expression turns heated, and he slides his fingers down my jaw until he’s collaring my neck, his hand a necklace around my throat.
“Jesus, Boy, you tempt me. Go to work before I take you home with me.”
“Okay,” I say, swallowing and feeling his fingers tighten against my Adam’s apple. “I like it when you hold me like this,” I admit, then cringe, wondering if I sound pathetic or weird.
“You like my hand on your throat?” he asks, but it sounds like a rhetorical question, so I stay quiet.
“I like it too. I like the way you press into it, like you’re giving me permission to hold your breath in my palm. I like it a lot, Kitten.”
His voice is like liquid lust, igniting my body. My dick is hard, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to end up making a mess…again.
“Anders,” I whine.
His soft chuckle only makes everything harder.
“Go to work, Kitten. Have a great day, I’ll see you later.”
Despite his words, he doesn’t let me go immediately, and I don’t pull away, enjoying every moment beneath his touch. Sighing sadly, he unfurls his fingers and slides his hand down until it falls free of my neck.
Cold air replaces his warm skin, breaking the spell enough that I blink back to the present. “See you later,” I whisper.
“Be good,” he warns as I turn and open the car door, slipping out into the brisk morning air.
I don’t turn back to look at him as I walk into the garage. If I allow myself to turn around, I’ll either be hurt if he’s left or potentially run back to him if he’s still there.
My thoughts are filled with Anders until Parker arrives. She’s visibly distressed, and when she explains the new game she and Danny are playing, it distracts me enough to make it through the day without torturing myself by overthinking.
I’m equal parts excited and scared when six p.m. rolls around. After saying goodbye, Parker leaves, but I take my time tidying my workspace and grabbing my backpack before I make my way outside.
Just like he said he would be, Anders’s car is parked at the curb with him sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s dressed in a tight T-shirt that hugs his muscles in a deliciously tempting way, making my fingers tingle with the desire to touch him.
The moment he spots me, he lazily climbs out of the car, his long, languid limbs moving with effortless grace as he strides toward me.
“God, Kitten, I missed you,” he rasps, cupping my jaw with his hand as he leans down and kisses me.
I’m not short, but Anders is so much taller than me that he makes me feel almost dainty in comparison. A part of me thinks I should feel emasculated by our height difference, but instead the disparity in our stature only makes me feel protected and safe.
“Come on, I can’t wait to get you home,” he rasps, grabbing my hand and dragging me to his car.
Instead of lingering, he reaches over me and fastens my seat belt, then jogs to the driver’s side, pulling away from the curb the moment he’s inside. Tension fills the car, but I can’t think of anything to say to alleviate it.
“Is everything okay?” I finally ask after several, painfully quiet minutes.
“Yes. No. I just fucking missed you. I’m not used to that.
I got in my car three times to come get you, but I knew you couldn’t just leave in the middle of the day, so I forced myself to go back in the house.
I’ve been sitting outside the garage for a fucking hour counting down the minutes until you got to finish. ”
His honesty shocks me. Aren’t people supposed to hold stuff back when they first start dating? Is that what we’re doing? I’ve never dated before, but this thing between Anders and me feels too intense to simply categorize it as casual. But then what do I know? I have no experience with this.
“Are we dating?” I blurt.
“What?” he snaps. “No, we’re not fucking dating.”
He sounds angry, but I don’t know why. Is saying we’re dating putting a label on us? Is it too soon for that? My lack of experience is making me anxious, and I consider asking him to take me to the bus stop so I can get away from this awkward moment that I’ve created.
“Dating is what you do when you’re not sure if you want someone. I thought I made it clear exactly what I want…you.”
“I…”
“Henry, you’re my boyfriend, my fiancé or, fuck it, my husband if you say yes.”
Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband? How did we get from taking things slowly to husband?