The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (87)

Her eyes widen slightly, and she sits up, turning her back to the couch again so she can face me, and I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

“The only thing that haunts me about what happened with her is the way I acted.” I pause. “I’ve never told anyone this, but Charlotte only did the leaving because I forced her to.”

She sits up straighter, suddenly looking more sober than I’d like. “What do you mean?”

“She wanted me to move to California with her. She got a job offer, a major opportunity. I said no. Me or the job.” I scoff. “A fucking ultimatum.” I shake my head. “What I didn’t understand then that I do now is that I wanted her to need me, and she didn’t. It’s a stupid thing, wanting someone to need you like that—I get that now. Someone can need you around without having to depend on you.” I shrug. “Back then, I just didn’t know the difference, and I guess she did.”

Maria studies me closely, and I turn to glance out the dark window just so I don’t have to watch as she does it.

“We weren’t right for each other at all because it wasn’t easy. And it’s never been easy with anyone else.” I laugh. “And that’s the tale of my long-standing run of bachelordom.”

“Worked out pretty good for me.” Maria smiles at me. “I don’t know if I’d be surviving without your help at this point.”

“Crazy,” I remark, making her eyebrows pull together.

“What?”

“It’s crazy…” I repeat, studying her beautiful face just a little bit closer, “…how a favor for you can feel like it’s doing so much for me.”

She stares at me for the longest time, her eyes intently searching mine, trying to find something I don’t quite understand. She does this for so long that I honestly start to wonder if my words came out wrong.

But then, she surprises the hell out of me in one fell swoop.

Mouth to mine, Maria kisses me.





Maria

I don’t know what came over me, but between one breath and the next, I went from a woman thinking about kissing Remy to a woman who is kissing Remy.

He’s shocked at first, his lips parting out of pure surprise, but when I coax my tongue inside his mouth, I feel him give in to the moment.

He tastes like tequila and Remy and all the things that make me feel good inside.

“Maria,” he whispers and slides his hands into my hair. His mouth has become as determined as mine, and the first inklings of arousal start to make themselves known by the ache that’s formed between my legs.

I just…want to be with him. Feel him. Taste him. Touch him. Do all the things I’ve been thinking about doing since the morning we were interrupted.

“I want you,” I say to him, the alcohol flowing through my veins making it easy for me to just tell him how I feel. “I want you,” I say again, and this time, I know he understands.

And the heat in his eyes tells me we’re on the same page.

It doesn’t take long before we’re off the floor and stumbling down the hallway, our persistent mouths kissing the entire time.

The bedroom spins around me as Remy turns me toward the bed and falls forward, taking us both down onto the mattress with a bounce. His lips stay firm on mine, and the smell of his cologne is like a warm blanket around me.

We’re both so different than we were back in the day, and yet, it feels so, so familiar.

I’m feeling needy and anxious and like Remy being inside me is the lone answer to all my questions and prayers. Like some part of him will fill some part of me the instant we come together.

Rationally, I know that’s probably not true, and realistically, I know I’ve had way more than my share of tequila. But with God as my witness, if having sex with Remington Winslow isn’t the true desire of my heart, I’ve obviously never experienced such a thing.

Because I want him badly, wholly, so fucking completely that my limbs feel tingly all over.

The moment we entered my apartment together with that bottle of liquor and no baby, I knew this was where we’d end up.

I knew that the draw to him was too strong, the itch to feel him against me too much to ignore. And the way he spoke about all the help he’s been giving me—as though it’s been a gift to him—sealed the deal.

Now, I’m ready…eager. I want to feel pure, unadulterated pleasure, and I want to feel it without regret, even if it’s only for a moment.

Remy pushes up off me enough to unbutton the front of my shirt, and I suck in a breath at the lust in his eyes. It’s potent and so, so obvious.

Regardless, as the cool air of the bedroom first hits my bare stomach, a wave of uncertainty rolls through me. Not about the decision to fall into bed with Remy—the thing about knowing him the way I do is that I know he’ll handle me with care. He has the history of my virginity and the many times following as a track record.

But my body is very much different from the way it was in high school—hell, it’s different from how it was a year ago.

It’s grown and nurtured a human, and it’s lived the aftermath of little sleep, no help, and a much less consistent gym schedule.

My skin is marked and striped and doesn’t sit quite the same over the flesh underneath. I know Remy isn’t so shallow as to point out my less than peak condition, but I can’t help but wonder in the back of my mind if he’ll notice. If the mushy fat of my abdomen will feel off-putting against his wall of muscle.