A Not So Meet Cute(102)

“I was not expecting you to say that.” She takes a deep breath. Fuck, she doesn’t feel the same way.

She stands from her chair, and I panic that she’s about to leave, but instead, she sets her beer in her cupholder and takes a seat on my lap. She places her hand on the back of my neck and plays with the short strands of my hair.

“I like you a lot, too, Huxley. And I want you to know how painful that is for me to admit.”

I chuckle as I’m filled with relief.

Her hand cups my cheek. “You’ve slowly won me over with your heart, something I never thought I would say. Given how things first started, I wasn’t sure there was a heart in that barrel of a chest of yours, but I know now that you were hiding it.”

“Because I didn’t want to show you. I wanted you to think I was cold, soulless, just a man to work with, nothing else.”

She chuckles. “Well, you did a good job at that, but too bad for you, I have people in my life who like to point out the good in you. Which they pointed out to me. I wanted to deny it, I wanted to think it wasn’t true, that your soul wasn’t just spotted black, but encompassed by it. I was wrong.” She shakes her head and lets out a curt laugh. “God, I thought you didn’t like me at all, that maybe I was just a toy to you.”

“Why the hell would you think that?” I ask.

Shyly, she moves her hand over my shirt as she says, “Because this weekend, when we were intimate, you never kissed me.”

For a goddamn reason.

I tilt her chin up so she’s forced to look me in the eyes. “Because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop.” I wet my lips, moving closer. “And honestly, I wasn’t sure you even wanted me to kiss you.”

“I do,” she says, her voice sounding breathless. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something as much as I want you to kiss me.” Her hand falls to my cheek. “You’ve commanded my body, Huxley, now I want you to command my mouth.”

There’s no way in hell I can deny myself now, not with that confession, not with the way she’s pulling me closer.

No, I want this. I want her.

This might go against every goddamn thing I’ve said from the very beginning, but it seems as though it’s inevitable. There’s no more denying our attraction, our need, our yearning.

It’s out in the open, and I’m going to take advantage of it.

I gently place my hand at the side of her neck, and with my thumb, tilt her chin up just before I lower my mouth to hers.

It’s a simple kiss but with a powerful punch behind it, packed with pent-up restraint and desperation.

And now that I’m not in front of my brothers or Dave, I don’t have to make a show of our kiss. I can really let myself enjoy.

Enjoy how beautifully soft her lips are.

Enjoy the firm grip she has on my cheek, keeping me still, showing me how much more she wants from me.

Enjoy the soft noises that fall past her lips when she needs to catch her breath.

My mouth moves across hers, slowly exploring. Her tongue swipes against my lips and I open my mouth to allow her to explore. Timid at first, her tongue gingerly strokes mine, but as I grip her more tightly, her timid kiss turns more desperate, and before I know it, we’re making out, in our chair, waiting for the concert to start.

Her hand snakes behind my head and up into my hair, while I move my other hand to her ribcage, just below her breast. I’m tempted to cop a feel, to increase this burn between us, but right as I start to move my hand, a guitar chord strums through speakers.

We pull apart just in time for Fleetwood Mac to come onto the stage.

What?

No opening band?

No announcement?

Just . . . here they are?

The entire place erupts in cheers, and my comfortable make-out session turns into Lottie hopping off my lap and throwing her hands in the air as she starts jumping up and down and cheering.

Still seated in my seat, I give myself a few seconds to collect myself before I join her.

Lottie, she’s . . . hell, she’s fucking special. And I knew that from the first time she turned me down. She was someone in need, yet she only thought about her sister. She didn’t want her parents to be disappointed in her, so she looked out for them too. She fought me on things that deserved fighting me on, and even though I attempted to deny it from the beginning, I don’t think there’s a chance in hell I’ll be able to let her go.

And that means one thing: I have to make this work. I want to date Lottie, make her feel special, because that’s what she is—special. And I suspect she has no clue. No thanks to her “friend” Angela.

Standing from my chair, I wrap my arm around her and settle my hand on her stomach, keeping her close to me just as the chords for “Dreams” start to play. Lottie glances up at me, tears in her eyes. She reaches for the back of my head, brings me down to her, and places a passionate kiss across my lips, turning me into a goddamn desperate man, wanting so much more.

When she pulls away, she says, “Thank you, Huxley. Thank you so much.”

I press a light kiss to the end of her nose. “You’re welcome, Lottie.”

Smile still on her face, she spins in my arms and leans into my embrace.

And while Fleetwood Mac performs, Lottie never leaves my side, never shifts away. She sways to the music with me while we sing together, letting the night take ahold of us. And while I’ve been to many concerts before—a private jet makes it so easy—this is one of my best concert experiences. And it’s all about the girl in my arms.