Chapter 25 Annabelle
Annabelle: I knocked earlier
Grant: I know
Annabelle: But you didn’t answer
Grant: I was deciding whether that would make it real
Annabelle: And?
Grant: Still undecided. But I left the door unlocked
Annabelle: That feels like a conclusion
Grant: It’s a footnote at most
Annabelle: I’m right outside
Grant: I can hear you
Annabelle: Are you opening the door?
He opens it. Today he’s wearing a blue t-shirt that says, “It’s Better By the Lake.” And honestly? Accurate.
I tilt my chin up to take him in. His hair is doing that perfectly messy thing that he pulls off so well.
He’s got a scruff of beard going, the kind that looks deliberate but casual, as if he woke up and thought, yes, today I’ll be devastating.
Brown eyes lock with mine, warm and amused, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
I had a whole speech planned, but instead, I’m busy thinking about how unfair it is that he looks like this on a random weekday.
He leaves me hanging in the doorway a beat too long. “Can I come in?” I ask.
He opens the door wider. “You look…you look put together.”
“I prettied up.”
“For me?”
“No, for Robert. I hear he delivers the mail upstairs now.” I close the door behind me. “Of course for you.”
“Are you wearing that bra again?” He sucks in his lower lip.
Now that I know what he can do with that lip, with his whole mouth, with his body, I have to clench my legs together and breathe deep. “A better one,” I tell him.
I’m rewarded with wide eyes as he looks like he’s wishing for x-ray vision. “That’s exciting,” he says. “So if you’re thinking…” He tilts his head and waits.
Right. Speech time. “Let me see if I can help you out. You had fun with me and you’d like to do it again, maybe even have a friends-with-benefits situation, but you’re hesitating because you know I get really emotional and you don’t want to promise me something you can’t give. Do I have that right?”
“Basically, yeah.” Grant shifts his feet. “You learned a harsh lesson, but now that you’re—”
“What lesson?” I interrupt.
“You know.” Grant points downward, as if he’s indicating the rage room below us. “About love.”
“Yeah, I chose poorly.” I shrug. “It happens. It will probably happen again. Not with you, though, so don’t worry about it.”
“So you’re saying you still believe in—”
I stop him with a hand to his chest. “This isn’t about what I believe. This is about what I want.”
Grant blinks. Blinks again. “And you want this.”
“Don’t you?”
“God, yes. I can’t stop thinking about you.
The scent of you. The way I wake up from dreams with the taste of you on my tongue.
Remembering that sound you made in the back of your throat when I was inside you.
” He reaches out slowly, as if he’s afraid of spooking me.
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “But I never want to hurt you. Not ever.”
“That’s all I ask for.” I capture his hand and kiss his palm. “Truly.”
And once again, I’m weightless. Grant has me in his arms and he’s carrying me toward his bedroom, where he lays me on his bed.
This time, it’s not frantic and desperate and heated. This time, it’s slow and thorough, leaving every inch of my skin marked with his hands and his mouth. He whispers endearments in my ear, soft and sweet. They’re exactly what I want to hear.
For a heartless bastard, Grant Neverly is the kindest man I know.