Chapter 18
RANSOM
I didn’t think I was a gawker, but maybe I am. Because, holy shit . . . this house is insane.
I could get lost in here. There are probably trapdoors and secret attics. Underground bunkers maybe.
The next morning after I put on my boxer briefs and hit the little boys’ room, I wander down the hall, amazed at the size of everything. I think the hallways are sprouting hallways and the stairs are giving birth to more steps.
Not wanting to spy, I return to her bedroom, standing in the doorway. Teagan’s still sound asleep, flat on her stomach, splayed out like a starfish, her red hair a fan around her head.
Snuggling would be nice, but I’m pretty wired, so I quietly snag my phone from the nightstand and head to the living room.
As I survey the spacious digs, I consider whether to sit on the couch or the chaise longue. Or the other couch.
Or the window seat.
I shake my head in disbelief. She has a fucking window seat.
Well, there is no contest.
I am sitting in the window seat. Bring me a cup of tea and a well-worn book, and I might as well just spend a rainy day here. If I were good at selfies, I’d snap a shot of myself and title it “Reading Nook.”
But it’s June, and the sun is already rising in a blue sky that promises a perfect New York day.
I settle in against the green, purple, and blue pillows spilling across the window seat and click open my phone.
My screen is bursting with notifications.
Text after text.
Logan: And good night to you too.
Logan: I mean, not that I need a goodbye, but holy hell. That was one hell of an exit. You took off like a fighter jet.
Smiling, I tap out a reply.
Ransom: Why, thank you. I consider that the highest of compliments.
But that’s not quite enough for the man who set me straight last night. Every now and then, a guy needs to speak a different language with his buds. I send another text.
Ransom: And I hope you know that this is the highest of compliments—thank you for the bro talk last night. I needed it, and I appreciate it.
Logan: Well, then, I couldn’t be happier.
Ransom: Bet you’ll be happier after you ask Bryn to marry you. Let me know when she says yes.
Logan: Aww, you’re sweet. Did it pain you to be honest like that?
Ransom: Like ripping off a limb, but every now and then, I gotta be up-front.
Logan: Wish me luck. Also, good luck to you, man.
Next, there’s a message from Fitz. I furrow my brow, wondering what the hell he’s doing texting me when he’s taking off for his honeymoon.
Fitz: Say it. I was right. I was motherfucking right.
Fitz: I’m waiting to use my I told you so and receive my thank you, all rolled into one big mea culpa from you, dickhead.
Fitz: I told you she’d be good for you, and I told you to go for it.
Fitz: And I was right. Also, did you or did you not score on my wedding night? I’m like a good luck charm.
The flurry of messages was sent an hour ago. It’s nine thirty, so I reply.
Ransom: What the fuck are you texting me for? Don’t you have more important things to do . . . like, say, fly to Copenhagen for your honeymoon?
Fitz: I was in line grabbing coffee at the airport, asshole. SINCE I WAS UP ALL NIGHT. Also, I can almost always make time to give you shit. Now, we’re about to take off, and inquiring minds want to know. WHEN DO I GET MY THANK YOU?
Ransom: Thanks for last night, you jackass. There, happy?
Fitz: Yes! I knew it. I was right. I was motherfucking right. You and Teagan are a thing. Called it.
Ransom: Go to Denmark, cupid. Just go to Denmark and have fun with your hubby.
Fitz: Obviously.
One more note from him lands on my phone.
Fitz: Also, I might have been part of that bet with Martinez and Carnale at the auction.
My brow creases as I think back to the night of the auction.
Ransom: Which one? There were about a gazillion.
Fitz: The one for a grand on whether she’d kiss you if she won you. Carnale said she wouldn’t. Martinez said she would. But guess what? I put my neck on the line. I said YOU’D kiss her. I had to defend your honor, bro.
I laugh, recalling the kiss. Yeah. I went first.
Ransom: I kissed her. You defended well. Happens every now and then.
Fitz: Sort of like your sense of humor. Also, see you on the flip side. I’m off.
Ransom: Hey! One more thing. Congrats! I’m really fucking happy for you.
Fitz: Thanks, man. Means a lot to me. And now I really am outta here.
Then, finally, a note from Martinez blinks at me.
Martinez: So, about that bet . . .
Ransom: Which one? Be specific. There’s the one where I beat you in the auction—aka the one where you pony up all your teeny little greenbacks for my favorite charity. Then there’s the one where you and your catcher bet each other that my woman wouldn’t kiss me.
Martinez: Oh, she is your woman now? Felicidades.
I’m about to write back and ask again which bet he was referring to when the padding of soft feet lands on my ears.
I set the phone down, cross the living room, and grin when I see Teagan yawning, stretching her hands above her head, then smiling at me.
She’s wearing sleep shorts and a tank top, and I want to kiss her everywhere.
“I see you found my reading nook,” she says.
My heart thumps hard. So hard it might be trying to leap out of my chest.
“And I think I’d like to take a pic and post it on the Instagram feed for hot guys in reading nooks,” she adds.
“Is that a thing?” I ask as I close the remaining few feet between us.
“If not, I’m starting that hashtag today.”
“Give me a paperback, and I’ll pose for you.”
“Ooh, you know how to tempt me,” she murmurs, then she sighs as I band an arm around her back, thread a hand through her hair, and claim her lips in a sweet, minty morning kiss. Briefly, she breaks the kiss, whispering, “Brushed my teeth for you. No morning breath here.”
“Dude. Same for you,” I say, smiling against her mouth then kissing her again.
Deeper this time.
My head swims with desire—and something else too.
Something stronger, more powerful.
Something that tethers me to her, and I know what it is as my lips sweep across hers.
It’s everything I’ve avoided for the last two years.
It’s everything I’ve tried to protect myself from.
The feeling that she’s the only one I want. That we could be together. That we could be a thing.
As I kiss her more deeply, our tongues skating over each other, our mouths searching, I wish for more weekends like this, more times with her, and, most of all, I hope she feels the same way.
When I break the kiss, she blinks several times. “Good morning to me,” she says.
I smile, and it feels like nothing can make me stop. “Hey, I wanted to revise something about our deal.”
“The no-rules deal?” She slides her hands up my pecs then down my abs.
“Yes. That one.”
“Okay,” she says tentatively, then squares her shoulders, taking a deep breath. “Lay it on me.”
She’s so tough, so strong. I can see that tenacity in her blue eyes, in the way she stands. She’s bracing herself for something hard, for something unexpected.
Maybe from years of doing precisely that.
But I hope that what I have to say is something she’ll want to hear.
I press a kiss to her forehead. “When I said no rules, I was foolish. I have a very big rule.” I pull back, meeting her gaze. “Just you and me. That’s the one rule. I don’t want to find some guy’s vanilla-honey lotion in your bathroom, okay?”
She laughs, her nose crinkling. “Or his lavender deodorant?”
I nod, big and long, teasing her. “And no hairbrushes, K? Keep those all away. You hear me now?”
She raises her hand, ruffling my hair. “Do you need a hairbrush though?”
“I thought you liked my messy hair,” I say, dropping a kiss onto her cheek, loving the freedom to embrace her like this. I flash back to laser tag the other week, to all the little touches we exchanged. They were all precursors, it seems, to what we both really wanted.
“I love your messy hair,” she says, then slides her fingers through it. “And yes, Ransom North. I want you all to myself. I like you a lot. In fact,” she says, licking her lips, taking a deep breath, “I’m kind of crazy for you.”
My heart spins wildly, the merry-go-round picking up speed and turning in whip-fast circles. “What do you know? I’m kind of crazy about you too.”
I haul her close for another hot, deep kiss that makes my head hazy and my skin tingle. And, big shock, it makes me want more than kissing. She seems to feel that way too, judging from how she’s melting against me, wriggling against me. And, oh yeah, grinding too.
Good morning indeed.
We stumble over to the nearest couch, stripping off the little we have on. We tangle together, kissing more, touching everywhere. I slide my hand between her legs, my skin sizzling as I glide across her hot, wet center.
“Need a condom,” I mutter.
She props her cheek in her hand, nibbling on the corner of her lip. “Or . . . we could go without. I’m clean and on protection.”
I groan, slide a hand up her neck, and grip her hair. “Me too. Clean, that is.”
I flip her to her back, hike her legs around my waist, and slide home. Pleasure envelopes me everywhere, from my toes to my hair.
She arches against me, her lips falling open, a shudder moving through her.
I thrust into her, fucking her on the couch. She moans and cries out, moving with me, rocking against me, gripping my hair, yanking me close.
She wraps her legs nice and tight around me, tugging me nearer as her fingers rope through my hair.
It’s hot and frenzied and passionate.
And somehow it feels both like fucking and like a promise.
Like we’re sealing our deal.
To be with each other.
To move past all our fears and jump into the great, wide waters of trying again.
With someone you trust.
Someone you’re pretty damn sure you could love.
That’s how sex with her feels.
Soon, we’re both panting, moaning, and coming together, tangled, sweaty, and satisfied.
A little later, after we shower, she gives me the tour, showing me the three-story brownstone she grew up in and all the pictures of her family, telling me stories as we go.
Every second feels precious and important.
When we’re done, I turn to her in the kitchen, linking her fingers with mine. “I love knowing all that. Thank you for sharing.”
“It’s always been easy to talk to you,” she says. “We’re just expanding our repertoire.”
I tilt my face. “You know, that’s a good way to put it. Speaking of, I’m supposed to see Luna and Tempest today. Do you want to meet my sisters?”
“I’d love to.”
Maybe we’re zooming through these moments quickly.
But maybe not.
Because everything feels right about this pace, and this woman, and this new future we’re stepping into.
The only thing that throws me is when we meet up again in an hour. My phone is buzzing, and it’s Tempest saying she has something to tell me.