Chapter 20 #2
With a deep sigh, he finally wraps his arms around me. My toes are barely touching the ground, and we soak each other in for a few moments before I pull back in the circle of his arms. Our breaths mingle, our mouths only inches apart. There’s heat brimming in his gaze when his eyes drop to my lips.
That. That right there is my signal. He wants this just as much as I do.
Head full of confidence and heart full of bravery, I bring my mouth to his.
But they never connect. Theo’s hand slips between us and his fingertips cover my lips. “Fabes,” he says firmly. “No.”
My stomach bottoms out. Embarrassment flames through me. I pull away and almost trip up a step. But Theo catches me again. Strong hands on my waist. An apology in his eyes.
“Sorry, I just wanted—” I drag a hand down my face. “I don’t know what I wanted, but for some reason I thought you wanted it too.”
A pained noise rushes out of him. “It isn’t a matter of wanting,” he says with a tortured expression.
“The way I want you, Fabes . . . the way I’ve always wanted you.
” He drops his forehead to mine, subtly shaking his head back and forth.
“Of course I’ve dreamt of kissing you. Thoroughly and enthusiastically. ”
I sigh, folding my hands in the front of his shirt. “Then why aren’t we kissing right now? I bet we’d be great at it. We’d have good chemistry. I feel it in my bones.” Kissing him sounds exhilarating. Just the right amount of reckless.
He groans, a bitten-off, jagged sound from the back of his throat.
“Because you’ve been drinking.” His head lifts, his heavy gaze meeting mine.
“And if we’re going to do this—give in to this thing between us—I want it to be a conscious choice.
I don’t want to be something you regret tomorrow morning. My heart couldn’t handle that.”
“But . . . I’ve been wanting you longer than just tonight.”
His fingers graze my cheek and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Then tomorrow. If you still want this. Okay?”
My whole body droops as exhaustion sweeps in. “Okay.”
A ghost of a smile flickers over his mouth. “Time for bed.” He nudges me to turn and continue upstairs.
I trip over the next step, and he mutters under his breath—something about fucking railing and unsafe. He keeps one hand anchored on my waist the whole time, like he’s worried I might fall at any moment.
When we reach the loft, he sits on the edge of the bed while I go the bathroom.
I drop the toothpaste once and bang my elbow on the wall while trying to get my bra off, but I manage.
By the time I reemerge—sans makeup and wearing my favorite shorts-and-tank sleep set and socks—Theo’s elbows are on his thighs, his focus on the ground.
As I step out, his eyes lift. It’s a slow drag, all the way from my toes to my face. His throat bobs on a swallow. His gaze falls behind me, to the lacy bra and panties set lying on the ground. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“I’m going to get some water.” I take a step toward the stairs, and he jumps up.
“No. No way in hell I’m letting you walk down those steps in your current state. They’re basically a death trap.” He points to the bed. “Sit. Stay.”
I arch a brow. “Woof?”
One dimple appears. “Lie down,” he orders before descending the stairs.
I’m half asleep by the time he returns but sit up long enough to take a big drink of water before falling back to the mattress. I catch his hand after he sets the cup on the nightstand. “Sit. Stay.”
He gives my fingers an affectionate squeeze. “I can’t.”
“I might try to go down the steps again.”
“That wouldn’t be very wise.”
I try pleading with my eyes now. “Lie down. You already know I’m prone to crying while drunk. You don’t want that, do you?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Sweetheart, please.”
The endearment lodges somewhere in my chest. He says it like that word was made for him and me.
Like it never existed before it dripped from his lips, syrupy and thick.
I have half a mind to tell him I’m not sweet at all, but the way he’s looking at me—full of affection and longing—I think maybe I could be.
If he thought that sweetheart was going to make me give up, he was so wrong. I pull harder, wrapping both hands around his elbow and yanking him over me. He falls easily—like he’s a house of cards tumbling over—landing sideways across my body.
It takes a minute for him to get situated. He kicks off his shoes and sends a quick text before he lies flat on his back beside me, on top of the covers. Long legs stretch down to the end of the mattress. I don’t think he’s breathing.
“Theo?”
“Mm-hmm?”
A yawn. “Thanks for staying.”
His pinky slides over and curls around mine on the blanket. “Fabes?”
“Theo?”
“Happy birthday.”
I wake up in a straitjacket.
Which shouldn’t be that surprising, given the memories that filter back into my mind as I come into consciousness.
I think Mia and I danced on the karaoke stage?
A fantastic lemon vanilla cake was in attendance, maybe?
There’s a vague vision of me smearing icing on Mia’s cheek and Bree licking it off, and I think I was showing my parents videos of miniature donkeys and telling them they should get some for the vibes.
All those moments are hazy on the edges, but a few flicker in crystal-clear. Theo twirling me on the dance floor. His thumb sliding over my bottom lip. Late-night snacks in the kitchen. Dimples in the moonlight.
Are we flirting? Yeah, we are.
The straitjacket tightens. My pillow shifts. A soft, contented hum hits the nape of my neck.
I barely contain a gasp as my eyes flash open.
Holding my breath, I peer down. Thick, tan forearms greet me—one banded across my collarbone, the other around my waist. Time slows as I take inventory of everything else I can feel.
A cozy blanket wrapped around me. Kitten curled at my thighs.
Breath puffing against my bare shoulder.
Warm bicep under my head. A long body pressed to my back, curved behind my legs.
He stayed.
My pulse is like an accelerating drumbeat, building into a big crescendo. It’s a wild, feral thing inside my chest, and I don’t know how to slow it down. Another hum leaves Theo’s throat, and he pulls me even closer.
That’s when a new memory drops into my mind. An almost-kiss. Fingers blocking my mouth. An apologetic smile.
Fabes. No.
Oh, god. I tried to kiss him. No, worse than that. I tried to kiss him, and he turned me down.
Embarrassment washes through me. This is awful, actually. I need space. Wait, I need more than space. I need to move towns. I need to move planets. I don’t know how I can look him in the face ever again.
My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls, there’s an elephant-size pain in my head, and my heart is racing like we’re in the Kentucky Derby.
I need to get away from here. I try to wiggle, squirm, and shimmy my way out of his arms, but every inch I gain, he steals back, pulling me closer.
His breaths are steady, like he’s still asleep, and every time he tugs me in, his muscles relax again.
I’ll be honest, it’d be really damn adorable if my heart wasn’t crumpling with humiliation and my bladder wasn’t fighting for its life.
Finally, I whisper, “Theo.”
I hear him swallow. “You can’t go down those stairs, sweetheart.”
Goose bumps prickle over my shoulders. Oh my god, Theo’s voice first thing in the morning is more than I can handle. It’s rough and delicious and I want to—fuck, I’m getting distracted.
“I promise I won’t go downstairs. Just the bathroom.”
A low sound—maybe a hum, maybe a growl—leaves his throat as he loosens his arms, and I wiggle my way out.
At the bathroom door, I turn back and dammit, it’s a mistake.
He looks soft and rumpled, still in last night’s clothes.
Sexy layer of scruff on his jaw. Little cowlick in his hair. Pillow creases on his cheek.
In my bed. Theo is in my bed. And, sweet hell, does he look good there.
Get a fucking grip, my brain whispers. You made a fool out of yourself trying to kiss that man last night, and he let you down as nicely as he could. Have you no shame?
I start to shut the door but pause when he leans up on one elbow. “Fabes?”
“Yep?” I chirp, a little too high-pitched.
A slow blink. “You still want to come house-hunting? If you don’t feel up for it, it’s okay.”
“Mm-hmm. I can do it. I’m just going to . . . uh . . . take a shower first.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Sounds good. I’ll find us some breakfast.”
I slam the door before I die of embarrassment.