Chapter 26 #2
“Exactly.” His arms tighten slightly. “Sitting there smelling delicious and fitting perfectly against me and making me think extremely inappropriate thoughts during a family film.”
Heat floods through me. “What kind of thoughts?”
“The kind where I pause the movie and remind you exactly how good you felt last weekend.”
I turn in his arms so I’m facing him, straddling his lap. “So why don’t you?”
His hands find my waist, grip tightening. “Because I’m trying to be good. Take things slower. Court you properly.”
“Court me?” I laugh. “What is this, the 1800s?”
“I’m serious.” His thumbs stroke under the hem of my shirt, finding skin. “Last weekend was... intense. Amazing, but fast. I don’t want you to think that’s all I want.”
“I don’t think that.”
“No?”
I frame his face with my hands. “Ethan, you literally helped me reclaim my bench. You bring your plant to visit. You’re teaching me about your passion via movies. Trust me, I know you want more than just...”
“Just?”
“You know.”
“I really don’t. You’ll have to be specific.” His grin is wicked now, hands sliding higher under my shirt. “For clarity.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You like it.”
“I do,” I admit, then kiss him before I can overthink it.
This kiss is different from our others. Slower, deeper, like we have all the time in the world. His hands map the curve of my waist while mine tangle in his hair. When he nips at my bottom lip, I make a sound that would be embarrassing if I could bring myself to care.
“Missed this,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Missed you. Is that crazy? Two days and I’m already—”
I kiss him again, not ready to hear whatever confession is building. Not because I don’t want it, but because I’m terrified of how much I do.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. The movie plays on, ignored.
“We should...” I gesture vaguely at the TV.
“Right. Ready player one. Very important.” But he’s already leaning back in, pressing kisses along my jaw. “Cultural education.”
“Exactly.” I tilt my head, giving him better access. “Learning is... fundamental.”
He laughs against my throat. “You’re going to be the death of me, Piper Renner.”
“Good way to go though?”
“The best.”
We eventually settle back into watching, but the air between us stays charged. Every touch feels deliberate now. Every shift of position a negotiation of want versus restraint.
“Hey,” I say as the credits roll. “Thanks for coming over. I was kind of spiraling earlier.”
“About what?”
I debate lying, then remember his thing about honesty. “You didn’t text much. I started wondering if maybe you were already over this. Over me.”
He sits up so fast I nearly fall off the couch. “What? Piper, no. God, no.”
“I know it’s stupid—”
“It’s not stupid, but it’s also not true.” He cups my face, makes me meet his eyes. “I’m not over you. If anything, I’m worried about coming on too strong. Scaring you off with how much I already—” He stops. “I really like you. Present tense. Continuing tense. All the tenses.”
“Even future tense?”
“Especially future tense.”
We look at each other, the weight of almost-confessions hanging between us.
“I really like you too,” I whisper. “All the tenses.”
His smile is brilliant. “Good. Great. Excellent.” Then he kisses me.
“I should probably work on OptiMatch for a bit,” I say reluctantly. “I’ve been neglecting it all week.”
“The dating app?” He sounds interested. “Can I see the updates?”
“You want to see my code on a Saturday night? Really living wild.”
“I want to see what you’re passionate about.” He kisses my temple. “Plus, I’m curious if we’re still ninety percent compatible.”
I lead him to my room, trying not to think about the last time we were in a bedroom together—his bedroom. My laptop sits on my desk between stacks of notebooks and empty coffee cups.
“Sorry about the mess,” I say, quickly shoving laundry into the hamper.
“Pip, you’ve seen my room. This is organized by comparison.” He settles into my desk chair, pulling me onto his lap when I protest. “What? Better viewing angle.”
“Sure, that’s why.”
“Purely practical,” he agrees, but his arms around my waist suggest otherwise.
I pull up the OptiMatch interface, hyperaware of every point where we’re touching. “So I’ve refined the algorithm since you last saw it. Added more weight to communication styles and conflict resolution approaches.”
“Smart.” His chin rests on my shoulder as I navigate through code. “What about physical compatibility?”
My fingers pause on the keyboard. “What about it?”
“Just wondering if the algorithm accounts for chemistry. That spark thing.”
“Chemistry is temporary,” I argue, but my voice comes out breathier than intended. “Compatibility is—”
“More important, I know.” His lips brush my ear. “But what about when you have both?”
“That’s...” I lose my train of thought as his thumb strokes along my ribs. “That’s statistically unlikely.”
“Is it though?” He turns the chair so I’m facing him more directly. “Run the test again. Let’s see.”
“Now?”
“Why not? Unless you’re scared the percentage went down.”
“I’m not scared,” I lie, already pulling up the questionnaire. “Fine. But you have to answer honestly.”
“Scout’s honor.”
We go through the questions together, me reading them aloud while he answers. It’s different this time—more intimate, knowing each other better. When we get to the section about relationship goals, his answers make my heart race.
“Long-term plans?” I read.
“Definitely long-term focused,” he says without hesitation. “Next question.”
“Physical affection's importance?”
“Critical.” His arms tighten around me. “Very, very critical.”
“You’re supposed to take this seriously.”
“I am serious. Physical touch is my love language.”
I elbow him lightly but enter his response. We continue through the questionnaire, sexual tension building with each question about preferences and desires.
Finally, I hit submit.
The results load.
Ethan Prescott - 94% Compatibility
“Ninety-four.” Ethan breathes out. “We went up.”
“The algorithm might still be incorrect…”
He spins the chair to face him fully. “Or maybe we’re just that good together.”
“Ethan...”
“Four percent more compatible than before. Know what changed?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
“We’re being real now. No pretense, no performance.” His hands frame my face. “Just us.”
The air between us crackles. My laptop forgotten, I lean into him, drawn by something stronger than any algorithm.
“We should—” I start.
“Test the physical compatibility part?” His grin is wicked. “For science?”
“I was going to say analyze the data breakdown.”
“After,” he suggests, already leaning in. “Definitely after.”
This kiss is hungry, weeks of tension finally breaking. I twist in his lap to straddle him properly, hands tanking in his hair. He groans into my mouth, grip tightening on my waist.
“Missed you,” he murmurs between kisses. “Two days was too long.”
“You mentioned that.” I gasp as his lips find that spot below my ear.
“Bear repeating.” His hands slide under my shirt, palms warm against my back. “Kept thinking about last weekend. About how you felt. How you sounded.”
Heat pools low in my belly. “Ethan...”
“Tell me to stop,” he says against my throat. “Tell me we should look at data and be responsible.”
“We should,” I agree, then kiss him again because I can’t help myself. “Later. Much later.”
He stands suddenly, lifting me with him. My legs wrap around his waist automatically.
“Bed?” he asks.
“Bed,” I confirm.
He carries me the short distance, laying me down carefully. The laptop glows forgotten on the desk, ninety-four percent mocking my claims about chemistry being temporary.