31. Gwen
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
GWEN
We dress in a giddy silence. Our eyes catch now and then, and each time, we share a small smile or a disbelieving headshake.
There’s no awkwardness, but there is a manic sort of excitement. It’s hard to explain.
All I know is that I’ve never felt like this before.
We leave his airplane hand in hand. And I don’t know who reaches first, me or him, or if we both reach for each other at the same time.
I glow, feeling like the cat who caught the canary as I strut through the airplane hangar. That is, until we have to pass Greg in his office, near the exit.
“You two have fun out there?” he calls from his desk.
“I can’t imagine a more perfect flight,” Bash deadpans, giving nothing away.
The man turns his attention to me. “And you, Gwen? I heard on the radio that it was your first time. How’d it go?”
My mouth pops open, and my cheeks go hot. I know he doesn’t know what we just did, but I’m reading it as innuendo anyway.
I let out a nervous giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Unforgettable.”
He gives me a wide, clueless grin. “That’s what we love to hear.”
With that, Bash tugs me forward. “Catch you next time, Greg,” he calls, like he can’t wait to get away from this interaction.
I tuck my chin as I let him lead me out of the hangar. And it’s only when we get outside and close the door behind us that we turn to face each other and burst out laughing.
Nothing about the moment is even that funny, but there’s something about it that clearly overwhelms us both.
Bash bends over slightly, pressing a hand to his abdomen. It reminds me of that night on the moving walkway in the airport, when he propped his hands on his knees, bent over, and laughed so hard that he could barely breathe.
I hadn’t realized then what a special moment that was. I hadn’t realized that he didn’t create a lot of room in his life for laughter.
I do now, though. So I watch him. I admire him. I laugh along with him.
My chest swells until it feels so full that it could burst. Every limb is deliciously soft. Every lump of anxiety inside me somehow smoothed over. And the knowledge that this is only the beginning of whatever this thing is between us does nothing but feed my excitement.
At the truck, he opens the door for me, and before I can even try to get myself into it, his hands are back on my waist. A flash of what we just did plays in my mind, and a shiver races down my spine as he lifts me into the passenger seat.
“You know I can get into the truck myself,” I say, curving a brow in his direction.
He shrugs. “Yeah, I know. But I think I’ve spent enough time not touching you.”
He shoots me a wink and slams the door before rounding the vehicle to his side.
As we pull out of the hangar’s winding driveway, he opens the sunroof and warm rays float in, kissing the top of my head. They match the warmth coursing through my limbs.
I close my eyes and settle back into the comfortable leather seat, relaxing into the blissful sensation.
It’s one of those days—not quite summer, but so close that you can taste it. Still a light nip in the air, but in the sun, if you close your eyes, it’s like you can imagine being somewhere tropical. And after a long, cold winter, there’s nothing better.
Well, except sex in an airplane with Bash.
“Does that count as our first date?” he asks, making me smile into the warm light.
“I’d say so.”
“Thank fuck.”
I glance his way, curious about his response. “Why?”
He shoots me a borderline playful glance from the driver’s seat. “Now you have to tell me your full name.”
My responding chuckle is raspy. His reasoning transports me back to that night in the airport. I told him then that my full name was first-date material…and he remembered.
“Guinevere.”
I chance a look at him, expecting a joke or offhanded comment. I’ve always disliked my full name. It seems frilly and impractical, and I’ve never felt as though it really fit me.
But Bash doesn’t say any of those things. Instead, he murmurs, “Guinevere,” like he’s trying it on for size. Then he smiles, reaches for my hand, and adds, “I love that.”
The warmth on my face surges through my entire body.
I don’t think he realizes how good he makes me feel in all the most simple ways.
The way he mends my wounds without even trying.
No, all he does now is turn up the music and take me for a cruise along the rural road while holding hands over the center console.
He cranks the volume when “She Drives Me Crazy” by Fine Young Cannibals plays. I think I even catch him mumbling along with the words.
We don’t talk, but we don’t need to. Part of me doesn’t know what there is to say.
The other part of me is avoiding thinking about the fact that we’re heading back to his house, where we’re going to have to address how to handle Tripp.
Because Bash is an honest man, a loyal man, and if he’s going to have me as a mainstay in his life—which I hope he will—we’re going to have to tell Tripp at some point.
And I have a sinking suspicion that it will not go over well.
Like I willed the problem into existence, Tripp’s rental car is back in the driveway when we pull up. However, in addition to his car, there are also a few more.
The truck rocks as we make our way down the gravel driveway, and I slowly turn my head toward Bash, brows pulled up in question.
“So, about all the things I promised we were going to do when we got home…” He trails off, lifting one hand and scrubbing it across the back of his neck. “We might have to wait until a little bit later.”
I cross my arms. “Oh, and why is that?”
I know why. He can see Tripp’s vehicle just as clearly as I can. I just desperately want to will it away, pull out an eraser, and remove it from our afternoon entirely.
“It would also appear that Tripp is back.”
I sigh and glare at the car and make a wish for it to disappear. He’s the last person I want to see right now.
My wishes are not answered. The car is still there, mocking me.
Bash continues talking. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage Tripp, I know he won’t make a scene because the real issue is that I invited our friends over for a surprise birthday party.”
I freeze and then bite down on a smile, not wanting to react too obviously. No one has ever planned a party for me. “I don’t think you’re supposed to tell people that they’re about to attend their own surprise party.”
Bash scoffs. “Well, these goofs didn’t do a very good job of covering their tracks, now, did they?” He tips his head toward where the cars are lined up in the driveway.
“You could have come up with some other excuse. Like… Clyde invited everyone over for a group taint-tanning session?”
Bash looks disgusted. “That’s a horrifying visual. But yes, I could have made something up. But you broke my brain. I’m not firing on all cylinders.”
I smile. “Bash, this is actually so romantic,” I tease. “You planned me a big birthday party? The perpetual bachelor and town loner invited other people to his trash can just for me?”
I get an eye roll now. “Good god, you and Clyde with that Oscar the Grouch metaphor. That really needs to die.”
“Why? It’s so cute. Everybody secretly loves Oscar. Yeah, he’s grouchy, but it’s part of his charm. Just like you. If you were too happy, it would just be weird. I would wonder if you were sick or dying or something.”
He rumbles a laugh now, shaking his head as he cuts the engine. “What a way to be known: the guy who, if he was too happy, would probably be dying.”
He’s about to hop out of the car when I reach across the center console, grip the lapels of his jacket, and pull him to me. I kiss him quickly, needing one more before we walk into the house.
He freezes at first but only for a beat, then he softens. Those rough fingers trace the edge of my jaw, fluttering over it like I’m porcelain and he wants to be careful with me.
Less than thirty minutes ago though, he certainly was not concerned about being delicate with me.
And I am captivated by both sides of him.
He kisses me back, so full of longing that it makes my chest ache.
“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling away slightly. “I needed that.”
He plants one more quick, firm kiss against my lips, and then another, like he just can’t help himself. Like he just can’t get enough. His eyes trace mine, dropping to my mouth, and then back up.
When he looks at me like this, I feel like I might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. I feel like I’m his.
“Always,” he murmurs, just before a low grumbling sound rumbles in his throat. Then, “But goddamn it, right now I’m really regretting the surprise party. I should walk in there and cancel it. Tell them all to get the fuck out.”
I burst out laughing at that. “Yeah, the best of intentions and all that.” I chuckle, planting a kiss against his stubbled chin.
“This will just make what’s coming later that much better.
So let’s go get this over with. Start early and end early.
Then you can follow through on all the things you said because it would be plain rude to break those promises on my birthday. ”
His lips curl into the most subtle of smiles. “Yeah, that’s probably true. Can’t be lying to my girl on her birthday.”
I sigh wistfully, pulling myself away from him. Knowing that if I don’t create some space, I’ll be crawling across the center console for a repeat performance.
He unbuckles himself and points at me before getting out of his truck. “Stay there. Don’t spoil my last chance to touch you before we go in there.”
Then he slams the door, and I wait because I’d never want to spoil that for him.
We walk in to an eerily quiet house, kick our shoes off, and suddenly I’m glad that Bash did tell me because now I can do my best to control my facial expression.
I pad into the kitchen, the warm heat of him following closely at my back, urging me forward. When I round the corner, a chorus of shouts ring out.