Chaos and Control(81)

I take a seat in the chair to put my boots back on, but he does that, too. On his knees, he rests my feet against his chest. He slides each sock on, kissing the inside of each ankle. Next are my boots. His fingers work methodically and quickly, lacing them up and tying the strings. The bows are perfect.

“There,” Preston says when I’m dressed again.

“So…” I say.

“So.”

“You’re completely sober.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re okay?” I ask. He tilts his head and considers my question.

“I’m better than okay.” Preston takes my hand and runs his thumb across my knuckles. “You are my first, Wren. Because, for some reason, my brain doesn’t scream when I touch you. My thoughts don’t race with what-ifs and phobias when you’re in my arms. In my head, there is only you—only the sound of your voice, that sweet smell on your neck, your eyes seeing all of me and wanting me anyway. You take all my roaring fucked-upness and quiet it with one touch, one glance, the way your finger mindlessly slides around your collar when you’re thinking.”

His words wrap me in a blissful cocoon that I want to stay in. It’s so nice here. I am good and worthy of him. I am desired and the best medicine.

“Fucked-upness? Is that a medical term?”

“It is. Just added to the American Journal of Mental Health.”

I follow his glance toward the workbench. He looks back to me and again at the tools.

“You don’t have to censor yourself around me, Preston. If you want to straighten them, do it. I’m not judging you.”

He exhales and stands to arrange the tools on the workbench, placing each of them parallel with the edge of the bench and spacing them evenly.

“Condoms in your wallet, huh?”

He turns and delivers that delicious smirk that makes my panties want to fall right off again. “I like being prepared. Last time I didn’t have any, things went bad. Very bad.”

We both frown, remembering.

“Well, we didn’t do much talking. I only came up here to talk.”

His eyebrows shoot toward his hairline, his mouth drops open. “I thought you wanted—”

“I’m kidding. Of course I wanted you. I never stopped wanting you.”

“Like sailors follow stars,” he quotes.

“I am led by her light,” I finish, loving the taste of his words on my tongue.





What is it that makes disarray okay What is it that stirs the deepest need That can only be tamed by the taste of her lips What is it that wipes clean every fixation But the one who sits before me Love

I know that now

Love in the way she trusts me

Love in the way she sees me

Love in the way she needs me

This four-letter word that has Evaded poets for centuries

And made teenagers sick

Has grown roots in my heart

And wings on my back

I am not anxiety or fear

Or any other affliction

In love, I am only Preston

- Preston





Chapter Twenty-Five


Room on Fire


I make it to the store early. Bennie sits in her usual place while Preston moves some shelves around to make room for more furniture.

“Good morning,” I sing, before hopping onto the front counter.

“Well, I see whatever made Preston so chipper must be contagious.”

Bennie chuckles when I give her an innocent shrug. “Preston is chipper?”

“He’s shittin’ rainbows, kid,” she says, chuckling.

“Hmm.”

I watch him work, and every movement, every sight of those hands makes me relive the memories of last night. I feel a blush consume my body and start to fan my face when I notice Bennie staring. She shakes her head and ducks behind her magazine.

Preston sees me and crosses the store in a hurry. He stands in front of the counter, looking unsure of how to proceed. His eyes dance between Bennie and me, and it makes me want to kiss him even more.

“Good morning,” he says.

“It certainly is.”

His arms flex as he crosses them over his chest. I place a chaste kiss on his worried lips. Preston relaxes and kisses me seven more times. It’s Thursday.

“Thanks for showing me your nail gun last night,” I say.

Preston’s eyes widen. “It was my pleasure. I have a plethora of tools at my disposal. I’d love to educate you on all of them.”

“I’m not sure anything could beat the nail gun, Preston. It was pretty impressive. All that power and quick action? Seems like the best tool around.”

I laugh and kiss him once more. He plants another seven on my lips.

“Eight on Thursdays,” he says before returning to work.

“His nail gun?” Bennie asks. “You guys are terrible at euphemisms.”

“It’s not a euphemism. We used his nail gun last night.”

She raises her eyebrows, one higher than the other. “I don’t even want to know.”

We have a great day readying the store for the upcoming summer sale. It feels amazing to have Preston back in my life. Bennie supervises as we organize the older stock. Working side-by-side with Preston is invigorating. We have the distraction of moving shelves and furniture, but every once in a while, I catch him watching me. His eyes slide over me in a way that feels teasing and devilish.