Sweet Filthy Boy (Wild Seasons #1)(95)

“Let’s go, then,” he says, dimple deepening. “Let me thank your girls.”

I’m starving for him, for us to be alone, but somehow even more excited just to have him here, with my friends, like this. Taking his arm, I pull him to my car.


ANSEL PUTS HIS dress shirt back on as he talks about his flight, the odd feeling of leaving just after work and arriving here at dawn and then having to wait all day to see me . . . all kinds of little details that skirt the edges of the bigger What Now? I steal glances at him as I drive. With the darkening sky behind him, he looks undeniably polished and gorgeous in his lavender button-down and slim charcoal pants. Even though I’m clearly just coming from a dance class, I’m not going to bother changing. If we went back to my place, no doubt we would stay there, and I need to see my girls, to thank them. And maybe more important, to let him thank them.

I slip on some more functional flats and take him directly to meet Harlow and Lola at Bar Dynamite, pulling him through the crowd, smiling so huge that my person is with me, my husband, my Ansel. They’re sitting in a curved booth, sipping drinks, and Lola sees me before Harlow does. Dammit if her eyes don’t immediately well up with tears.

“No.” I point at her, laughing. For all her tough exterior she is such a sap. “We aren’t doing that.”

She laughs, shaking her head and sweeping them away, and it’s a strange blur of greetings, of my favorite people and husband hugging each other as if they’re the best of friends and merely haven’t seen each other for a while.

But in a way, it’s true. I love him, so they do, too. I love them, so he does, too. He pulls two chocolate bars from the inside pocket of the jacket he has slung over his arm and hands one to Lola and the other to Harlow. “For helping me. I got them at the airport, so don’t look too excited.”

They both take them, and Harlow looks down at hers and then back at him. “If she doesn’t bang you tonight, I will.”

His blush, his dimple, a quiet laugh, and the teeth pressing into his lip again and I’m done for. Fucking kill me now.

“Not a problem,” I tell her as I toss his jacket onto the seat and drag him, wide-eyed and grinning, after me onto the dance floor. I honestly don’t care what song is playing—he’s not leaving my side the entire night. I step into his arms and press into him.

“We’re dancing again?”

“There’s going to be a lot more dancing,” I tell him. “You may have noticed I’m taking your advice.”

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers. He rests his forehead against mine before pulling back, meeting my eyes. “You just implied you’re banging me tonight.” His grin gets bigger as his hands snake around my waist.

“Play your cards right.”

“I forgot my cards.” His smile wilts dramatically. “But I did bring my penis.”

“I’ll try not to break it this time.”

“In fact, I think you should try your hardest.”

The bass shakes up through the floor and we’ve been semi-yelling this playful banter, but the mood slides away, cooling between us, and the moment grows a little heavy. We’ve always been best at flirting, best at f*cking, but we’ve had to pretend to be someone else for us to open up sincerely.

“Talk to me,” he says, bending to whisper the words into my ear. “Tell me what happened that morning you left.”

“I sort of felt like I had to step up and face what comes next,” I say quietly, but he’s still bent close, and I know he’s heard me. “It was shitty of you not to tell me about Perry, but really it just gave me the shove I needed.”

“I’m sorry, Cerise.”

My chest tightens when he calls me this pet name and I run my hands up and down his chest. “If we’re going to try to do this, I need to know you’ll talk to me about things.”

“I promise. I will.”

“I’m sorry I left the way I did.”

His dimple flashes for the tiniest second. “Show me you’re still wearing my ring and you’re forgiven.”

I hold up my left hand and he stares for a beat before bending to kiss the thin gold band.

We sway a little, not moving much, while all around us people bounce and shake and dance on the floor. I lean my head into his chest and close my eyes, breathing in every part of him. “Anyway, we’re done with all of that. It’s your turn to babble tonight.”

With a little smile, he bends close, kissing first my right cheek, and then my left. And then he touches his lips to mine for several long, perfect seconds. “My favorite color is green,” he says against my mouth, and I giggle. His hands slide down my sides, arms wrap together around my waist as he bends close, kissing his way up my neck. “I broke my arm when I was seven, trying to ride a skateboard. I love spring, hate winter. My childhood best friend’s name was Auguste and his older sister was Catherine. She was my first kiss, when I was eleven and she was twelve, in the pantry at my father’s house.”

My fingers glide over his chest, up his throat, and link at the back of his neck.

“My greatest trauma was my mother leaving for the States, but otherwise—and even though my father is a tyrant—my childhood was quite nice. I was terrible at math in school. I lost my virginity to a girl named Noémi when I was fourteen.” He kisses my cheek. “The last woman I had sex with was my wife, Mia Rose Guillaume.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “My favorite food is bread—I know it sounds horribly boring. And I don’t like dried fruit.”