Chapter 7
MY KIND OF WEIRD
Fisher
I walk Katie home, the clock ticking in my mind the whole way, the night unwinding to its inevitable end when I say goodnight and she heads into her building alone.
The door will close, she’ll go into her place, and we’ll return to friendship.
To hanging out. To long, deep talks about life and dating and other men and women.
And when we reach the steps, we could do that tonight.
We could stay the wonderful, safe course.
But I take risks every time I strap on my skates and step onto the ice, stick in hand, determination in every cell. Katie is worth this risk.
We’re ten feet from her building, white lights glittering around her doorframe.
Beckoning me toward possibility. Toward a new future.
When we’re at her place, she smiles my way and says, “I had such a great time tonight.”
“I had the best time,” I say, but that’s only the start. I say her name, importantly. “Katie, I need to—”
“—Yes.”
I stop. Furrow my brow. “What?”
“Yes,” she says, grinning a little nervously, but there’s some heat to that grin. A little sexiness.
I step closer, feeling the possibilities, embracing the anticipation. “Yes what?”
“I’d like a lesson please,” she says in a nervous rush, but her eyes look thrilled.
I nearly groan from happiness. “Are you serious?”
“It’s all I can think about.”
I exhale, long and relieved and turned on. But happy too. “Same fucking here. But you need to know something.”
“What is it?”
“I wasn’t joking last night. And I’m not joking when I say this,” I begin, holding her gaze, making sure she knows I mean everything. “I want to kiss you again tonight. And tomorrow. And for a long, long time.”
Her eyes widen, but they’re sparkling too. “Yeah?” She sounds wildly hopeful.
“I sure do,” I say, then shrug, a little helplessly since I feel that way with her. “I don’t want to just give you one lesson.”
She sighs happily. “Good. I don’t want only one either,” she says, her smile lighting me up and turning me on even more. She tips her forehead toward the door. “Inside. Now.”
In no time, we’re in her apartment, hastily locking the door.
“You have been turning me on all night,” I say, and it feels great to admit the full truth that I’ve, evidently, kept secret for years.
Then I press my body against hers so she can feel how much I mean it.
When I seal my mouth to hers, I give her a slow, passionate kiss that makes me shudder. That heats up very, very soon.
We kiss with our whole bodies. With hands in hair, hips locked, lips exploring.
I rope an arm around her, my hand slinking up the back of her sweater, feeling her soft, silky skin.
I moan, needing so much more of her.
At last I break the kiss and say, “All right. I need to know how fucking fantastically weird you are.”
She dips her face then raises it, her brow knitted in worry. But then she shrugs, fuck it style. “I like it when you talk dirty to me.”
“Holy shit. That is my kind of weird. And my kind of normal.”