The Ex Talk(83)

Of course it’s appealing. TJ suggested the same thing after I got back from Orcas.

“Shay,” Dominic says, poking my arm. “What do you think?”

“It’s a good idea. But there’s still a lie at the root of it. I know there isn’t a way around it, not at this point, but I still feel shitty about that.”

“I get it. But we wouldn’t have to keep sneaking around. I like this so much, being with you. We don’t know how long this show will realistically last, and I hate having to hide it, not being able to tell anyone. We’d still be exes. Exes who were brought back together by the power of radio and podcasting. And some shoes made from corn.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it wouldn’t matter that we were exes before—just that we got back together.

I don’t want to have to choose between the job I never thought I’d have and the guy I might be starting to love.

“What happens if—if we break up?” The relationship still feels so new, so delicate. I’m certain we can weather a frank question like this, but I hate asking it.

He’s quiet for a few moments. “I know you’re trying to be rational, but . . . I don’t think we can possibly know that. I can’t keep thinking that far into the future. All I know is that you make me so fucking happy, and not telling anyone is killing me.”

I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. I want to believe him so badly. I want there to be a way to have this day every day.

“What if we do it tomorrow? At the festival? At the live taping?”

Dominic smirks. “Do you think Kent would lose his shit?”

“All the more reason to do it.”

“Fair point.”

“I am going to tell all our thousands of listeners how much I love the mumbling you do in your sleep.”

“Then I’ll tell them about your Beanie Baby collection.”

“You wouldn’t dare. The Beanies are sacred.” He pushes up his sunglasses, his gaze both wild and full of longing. “Come here,” he says, and I’m in his lap an instant later, wrapping my arms around him, not caring who sees us.

There’s this moment, one where my heart is beating so in sync with his that I love you almost slips from my mouth.

But every other time it’s happened in the past, that’s when it’s gotten messy. I don’t want to risk not hearing it back if he’s not there yet.

I go with three different words.

“Let’s do it,” I tell him, aware that once we do, we can’t take it back.



* * *



—

We make it back to the hotel before eight o’clock, and in the elevator up to our floor, I make a joke about being old and having an early bedtime. Except when Dominic shuts the hotel room door behind us, he presses me against it and kisses me for a long, long time, these lazy swipes of his tongue that turn me to melted chocolate.

Every time I reach for his belt, he bats my hand away. I forgot how much he likes to tease and be teased.

“Slowly,” he warns.

My lips are swollen and I got too much sun today, and I’m altogether too dizzy and shimmery to protest.

He runs a hand up my thigh, beneath my short skirt. A moan escapes my lips as he drags a finger along my damp underwear. I cup the stiff front of his jeans, rubbing back and forth, but he wraps his fingers around my wrist to get me to stop. I let out a frustrated sound and he laughs.

“I want to ask you something.” Now he’s not laughing. His gaze pins me to the door, his eyes molten black. “Did you ever get yourself off, thinking about me?”

“Yes,” I say, not even embarrassed.

“Could you—could you show me?” he asks, his voice low. “It’s kind of been . . . a fantasy of mine.”

Somehow, I’m already breathless. “I could do that.”

A beat passes between us, and he withdraws his hand from my skirt. I swallow hard, leading him over to the bed with its perfectly made hotel sheets. With trembling hands, I take off my sandals and skirt, slide my underwear down my legs. I’ve never done this in front of someone else. Something about it has always felt so intimate—more intimate than sex.

He sits next to me on the bed, fully clothed.

“You have to give me something,” I insist, tugging at the hem of his shirt, and he obliges.

I lie down with my head on a pillow, my heart hammering. At first I’m not sure I can actually make myself come in front of him, or if he wants me to go that far. But the intensity in his gaze, the anticipation there, propels me forward. I have never been so open with my body with someone else, but with him, I want to be.

The entire time, I’m aware of his eyes on me, the way his jaw clenches, as though he’s forcing himself not to react. That somehow makes it hotter, knowing he’s holding himself back. It’s what makes me stop holding myself back.

“God, yes,” he says, wrapping a hand around my ankle as I quicken my rhythm. “You are so unbelievably sexy.”

I let out a soft moan at that. I stretch my hand toward his mouth, and he sucks on my fingers before I plant them back between my thighs. The orgasm takes me by surprise, the pleasure cascading up my spine in a hard, fast burst. I’m still riding the waves of it when his mouth crashes into mine.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, and knowing it turned him on makes me greedy for more. “I need you to see how beautiful you are when you come.” Then he’s pulling me off the bed and over to the full-length mirror, undoing his jeans and stepping out of his boxer briefs.