Chapter 27 Gabriel #2
And—God help me—I think I’m relieved more than anything. Because if she’s jealous, that means I’m not alone in this. Not alone in the fumbling, in second-guessing, in feeling something bigger than I know what to do with because I know she’s still fragile and trying to figure her new reality out.
“You’re jealous?”
“I’m not jealous,” she snaps, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “Why would I be jealous? I don’t care.”
Her tone is enough that I instinctively take a step back, because for all my rough edges, I feel things deeply—especially rejection. Especially when I’ve been rejected before by the one woman I thought never would.
“It’s just weird,” she continues, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as if that can keep me out. “Like there aren’t a thousand contractors in Brookhaven she could’ve called?”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I turn back to the sink and unplug the drain. The soapy water starts to go down it slowly.
“There actually aren’t. Plus, she knows my work. Knows the detail I put into things. The focus I have. The attention I pay. She said she wanted the best and that’s what I am.”
Aly scoffs, voice dripping with something dangerously close to bitterness. “I bet she does know all about the attention you pay.”
Before she can say anything more, I stop her—fingers wrapping around her wrist, taking the dish towel from her hand and setting it on the countertop so she can’t dry that same glass anymore.
It’s dry. She’s just doing it to distract herself from the confusing emotion that she’s feeling.
I know it. It’s written all over her face.
“Hey, I wasn’t done with that—” she tries to protest.
I don’t let her finish. I tug her in, hands settling on her hips, pulling her flush against me as I lower my lips to hers.
I take her breath in a kiss, stealing it, claiming it.
For a split second, she stiffens, but then, she melts.
I can physically feel the tension and whatever guards she has up around me all the damn time sliding downward.
Her arms stay limp at her sides, stubborn as ever, but her mouth tells me everything I needed to know.
The way she kisses me back, the way her tongue meets mine, the way her whole body practically trembles against me.
She wants this. Needs this. Just like I do. She just needs to get out of her head.
When I break the kiss, I press my forehead to hers for a beat. “You didn’t let me finish.”
“W-what?” she asks softly, her voice shaking a little.
“I’m going to refer her to work with Roman’s half-brother on the project instead. He does flips and renovations for a living and our style is similar. He’s coming back to Brookhaven next summer since his mom’s still here and she’s sick.”
“You… you’re not doing the project?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Jack can handle it. Just need to line the timing up with him.”
She turns that over in her head for a few minutes. I can practically see the relief start to crack her hard exterior.
“Let me give you a ride home,” I murmur against her lips as I kiss her again.
“Home?” she asks, breathless. “Like, my house?”
I shake my head, brushing my nose against hers. “My place. Where you’re living. Home.”
She pulls back slightly, blinking up at me, and for a second, I think she might fight me on it.
“I drove here,” she says instead, and I can already hear the excuse coming. “And I have to stop by Natasha’s house first. Got a last-minute PI gig in Hartford that I picked up.”
And fuck if that doesn’t sit like a rock in my gut.
Because the thought of Aly out there, trailing some cheating asshole, watching some guy break another woman’s heart on Valentine’s Day weekend…
Well, that shit doesn’t give me the warm and fuzzies for our future.
In fact, it feels like she’s doing it just to solidify in her mind that men are shit and she can’t trust them.
That she shouldn’t give love a chance again.
Which again, I don’t blame her for thinking that, but when the only news channel you tune into is constantly telling you that the whole fucking world is burning, then it makes sense why you’d think that, even if it’s only half the truth. Focus on the bad, you’ll always see bad things.
I lean in again, brushing a loose strand of her soft, dark hair off her shoulder before lowering my lips to her neck because I can tell this isn’t the night for me to tell her any of that. That’s something she needs to realize on her own with time. Some lessons you learn the hard way.
I press a slow, soft kiss there. I feel it when her skin prickles with goosebumps, when she shivers, when her breath catches just slightly.
She’s so damn responsive to me. It’s one of my favorite things about her.
She might be at war in her mind over whatever’s happening between us, but her body knows mine and aches for me too.
“Let me take care of you first,” I say softly. If she wants to go get confirmation that some men are cheaters, at least I can send her off with my cum inside her and an orgasm, first.
“What does that mean?” she whispers.
I let my lips linger against her skin, smelling her sweet scent. “You know what it means. Let me fuck you. Let me make you feel good.”
She bites her lip, worrying it between her teeth, like she’s considering it. Then, finally, she sighs. “Okay.”
Victory hums through me. Maybe if I can show her that I’m a good guy before she goes and stalks this other guy, I’ll be on her mind tonight.
That thought is immediately cut off when she says “But I’m driving back to my place.
I’m not letting my grandma gloat when she watches us ride off together on your bike. ”
I huff a low laugh, but take her hand, squeezing it in my palm. “Fine. But you’re going to ride it eventually.”
She rolls her eyes. “She’ll hate that. She thinks motorcycles are death traps.”
I smirk, pulling her back against my chest, fingers tilting her chin up so I can look into those pretty eyes. “Then I guess I’ll have to give grandma a ride first.”
And before she can protest, I kiss her again, deep and slow, taking my time with her—right there in the middle of her grandma’s kitchen. Not giving a single damn who might walk in and see.