Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(70)

“That’s important, Tank.” I lean in and take a deep whiff of his clean scent. He pulls me closer to his chest, which is exactly what I needed him to do. “I understand your hesitation. You don’t want to be responsible for changing my big plans. Too late. Sorry. You can’t make me stop caring about you. You can’t make me stop wanting you.”

“Well, I’m a lucky guy, then.” He eases me off his body, and for a moment I’m disappointed. But then he lays me down on the couch, and covers me with his delectable self. “I just want you to know one thing,” he says quietly.

“What?” I’m drowning in his serious green eyes.

“If I could, I’d give you everything. A baby. All the babies.” He smiles down at me. “I love you, Bess. I like your quick mind. I love your sense of humor. I want you in my life, even if it’s selfish.”

“It’s not,” I whisper. “Because I want it, too.”

Just as my poor, battered heart is trying to understand this wonderful reversal of fortune, Tank kisses me. It’s a very serious kiss—slow and intentional and full of new promises. I moan into the firm press of his lips, because I missed him so much.

His fingers weave into my hair as he kisses me again. I’m all in for this kiss. I catch his head in my hands and sigh against his mouth. “Need you,” I whisper as his lips trail off to tickle my jaw and then kiss the spot below my ear.

I close my eyes as his lips move down to caress my neck. And I feel lucky.

His arms close around me, and we stay in this nice place for a while, kissing slowly. Remembering how much we need each other. It lasts until Tank’s phone rings from somewhere in the vicinity of his back pocket.

I’m so eager to ignore it that I slide a hand down his hard stomach and over the bulge in his jeans. He chuckles happily as the ringing stops. He’s unbuttoning my blouse as it starts up again.

“Is that someone important?” I sigh between kisses.

“It’s my agent,” he grumbles. “If you would have taken me on as a client, Eric wouldn’t be calling when I’m trying to kiss you.”

The phone rings again, and I push him off me. “Answer the man or silence your phone before I throw it across the room. I can’t work in these conditions.”

Tank sits up, tugs his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen. “This better be important.”

Since we’re lying so close together, I can hear Eric’s voice respond. “It’s not like I really want to disturb you. And please don’t tell me what you’re up to at the moment, because whether it’s good or bad I really don’t want to know. But I need to remind you that Wilson is waiting to hear about the apartment. Those realtors aren’t going to sit around and sip tea while you two decide whether or not to buy it. They’re probably working the phones as we speak.”

Tank groans. “Okay, man. You’re right. Can I call you back in ten minutes?”

“Of course.”





Twenty-Eight





No Picket Fences





Tank





After I set down the phone, Bess and I gaze at each other for a moment, trying to take it all in. “So much for your moratorium on big decisions,” I say slowly. “Is one of us buying that apartment?”

“You are,” Bess say immediately. “It isn’t even a question. I already have a place to live. That place gives me sticker shock, but you could make a cash offer. They’d have to say yes.”

I lean down and kiss the side of Bess’s face, because I can’t stop touching her. But I feel uneasy about this. “I would step aside if you wanted that place. You still might decide you need a two bedroom.”

“Nope.” She gives her head a slow shake. “The moratorium on big decisions is still in force. Buying that apartment would be a huge decision for me. But for you, not so much. Take it, Tank. If someone else snaps it up while you and I are tiptoeing around each other, that will be a travesty.”

I let out a grunt of agreement. But it makes me all kinds of uncomfortable that Bess would throw away her plans to be with me. “I’ll call Wilson, the realtor.”

“You do that. I’m going to order some Indian food. You want your usual?”

“Yes,” I say easily. Because I’m a selfish man, and I do want the usual. I want Bess’s usual smile, and the pleasure of eating dinner with her and then taking her to bed.

She has no idea how much she means to me. And I intend to prove it. But first I call Eric back, and together we make a cash offer at the asking price, just like Bess suggested.

After I hang up, we eat Indian food and drink a bottle of cheap white wine that Bess had in her kitchen. “You’ll need furniture,” Bess says. “I’m not sure Eric will be much help. He’s not very interested in home furnishings.”

“You can help me, then.” It takes all my willpower not to add: and why don’t you just move in with me? But I’m not going there, not yet anyway. In the first place, we’re not supposed to make big decisions. And more importantly, I need Bess to take her time and really think through what she’s giving up if we stay together.

Having kids, or not, is a huge decision.

“I cannot help you with furniture,” Bess scoffs. “Look around yourself. Is this the home of someone who knows anything about home fashion?”