The One Night(20)

“What?” I say with a laugh. “‘Gym Alien.’ What the hell is that?”

She shrugs. “Honestly, my brain feels like a pile of mush—that’s the best I could come up with.”

“It’s probably mush because of all my alien muscles. They’ve turned you into a puddle of a woman.”

She lightly chuckles. “No, if anything turns me into a pile of mush, it’s your eyes.” Her hand lifts from my shoulder and to my face, where she pushes at my hair. “They’re mesmerizing. Hard not to be intimidated when they look at me.”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘intimidating’ to describe me. I would be more apt to say ‘Gym Alien’ than ‘intimidating.’”

“But that’s how you see yourself—you don’t see the persona you project on the outside.”

“And what persona would that be?”

She lowers her hand back to my shoulder. “Broody, contemplative, intimidating gaze. But there’s a side of you I’m assuming you don’t show many people . . . this caring, fun side I’m seeing right now.”

“It’s the booze.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she says. “You’re a good man, Cooper, but I think you like to pass yourself off as the grump, and I’m not sure why.”

“Maybe so I can prevent someone from hurting me again,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her eyes flash up to mine. “Are you talking about Dealia?”

I glance away. “We hurt each other—that was an added dent to my heart.”

And then, as if a light bulb goes on in her head, she says, “Your birth mom.”

If you’re friends with my parents or know anything about my family, then you know my parents’ unique story—how they tried for many years to get pregnant but never were able to conceive. And then Ford and I came along. Hungry, desperate for a roof over our heads. Our parents took us in and gave us a family. Shortly after we were adopted, our parents became pregnant with Palmer. And even though they gave us the perfect childhood, the damage was already done, and I still very much feel the scars that were left on my soul as a young boy.

“Not something I really want to talk about,” I say, realizing I just brought down the mood in an instant.

“You don’t have to, Coop.” Nora’s hand glides up my neck. “Just know that I don’t take that dent, that scarring, lightly. Know that I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

There’s something in the way her words capture me, in the subtle way her fingers trace over the back of my neck, in the delicate tone of her voice, that pulls some carnal need out of me. A need so deep that I can’t stop my fingers from slipping past the waistband of her jeans.

When she lets out a small gasp and then a satisfied smile, a bolt of possessiveness pulses through me.

And when I unlatch my hand from hers and lift her chin, I wet my lips, knowing exactly what I want.

There’s something to be said about someone hearing you.

After these past few hours, I know she looks past all my exterior scarring and sees me for the man I’m trying to become, the man I’m trying to reshape myself into. My siblings don’t see that.

My parents marginally acknowledge who I’m trying to become.

But Nora, she doesn’t hold preconceived notions about me. She doesn’t hold power over the man I used to be. She’s just encouraging me to be the man I want to be.

And that erupts new life in me.

Before I can stop myself, before I can even consider the ramifications of my choice, I tilt her chin up and descend my mouth onto hers. Tentatively at first, I press light kisses across her lips, waiting to see if she pulls away, but when her grip on me intensifies, I capture her mouth in a deep kiss.

Her hand floats up into my hair, pulling on the short strands as my fingers slide farther down her backside, under her jeans, until they collide with the hem of her thong. I twine my fingers in the thin fabric and pull her even closer.

A low moan flows past her lips, and I swallow it whole while deepening our connection with hot, openmouthed kisses that drive me to dizziness.

Her free hands claw at my chest.

My free hand tangles in her hair.

And our slow, tentative kiss turns into us pulling, grappling at each other until I pull away, putting space between us. We stare at each other under the festive lighting, “White Christmas” playing in the background. We both breathe heavily, holding curiosity and yearning in our eyes.

“Tell me this is crazy,” I gasp.

She shakes her head. “It’s not.”

I drag my hand over my mouth. “I want more of you.”

“Same. I live nearby, you can . . . come over.”

Fuck, I would want nothing more than that.

“Do you want me to come over?”

She wets her lips, and I wonder if she can taste me. “I want you to come over.”

“Then show me the way.”

Without another word, she goes back to the counter, where she turns off the music, and then she snags my hand and leads me out of the bakery. She locks up quickly and then tucks her side into mine as she guides me across the street and down a block. I stick my hand in her jeans pocket and keep her close as we make our way to her apartment. By the time we reach it, I’m fucking desperate for her.