Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(94)

The weight of his words sends an electric thrill rocketing through me. There’s a hopeful yet vulnerable look in his eyes I’ve never seen before. For the first time, there’s no iron gate, fortress, moat, or velvet rope keeping me from him. He’s right here, in front of me, dressed like a literal prince, warm eyes beaconing me to him.

Because I’m me, my mind blanks entirely, homing in on the only coherent statement echoing in my mind. “I’m really not that messy.”

He does that face, the mock-disappointed face he always makes. “Tara, I just told you I loved you and that’s what you take out of it?”

I cover my face with my hand. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to declarations of love like this.”

“The fact that no one has realized how amazing you are is just . . . mind-blowing.” He reaches to brush the crest of my cheek with his thumb. I want to capture this very moment. His gentle laugh, like music to my ears. The sound of Angie and her friends laughing, running around the room. Even the antiseptic hospital scent. The look in his eyes that fades everyone and everything around us to a mere blur. Like we’re the only ones who exist in this moment. “I understand if you need to take time to think about it. I just needed you to know how I feel.”

“I don’t need any time to think about it. You know I love you.” I inch forward, and finally, we’re chest to chest, nose to nose. The warm, welcome contact stirs something inside both of us, because within a fraction of a second, he’s cupping my jaw with one hand.

“What are you doing?” I ask in barely above a whisper.

“What every good romance hero does.” When I nod, he lets out a sharp breath before his lips fuse to mine, pleading for entrance.

This time, it’s not soft, sweet, or tentative. It’s deliberate. He’s silently telling me he’s mine and I’m his.

Finally.





? chapter thirty-four


WHEN WE RETURN to our apartment, Trevor presents me with something unexpected. A shoe box.

“What is this?” I ask.

He stands next to me at the kitchen island, teetering on the balls of his feet, nervous. “Look inside.”

When I open the lid, he’s behind me, his strong hands steadying me around the waist as my knees buckle.

The gasp I emit is embarrassing. The first item I pull out is a crumpled McDonald’s receipt for a Big Mac and Quarter Pounder combo. From the night he took me out for food after my disastrous date with Segway Jeff.

“You kept this?” I ask, misty eyes catching his gaze over my shoulder.

He presses a soft kiss on my temple. “Yup.”

“Why?”

“You said your parents’ first date was at McDonald’s. I guess I thought you might like it one day.”

A burning match strikes in my stomach as I examine the folded-up, empty bag of BBQ chips from the first night we watched The Bachelor together, as well as a handwritten note with the cupcake recipe we made.

“But . . . this means . . .” I start, breathless as the admission takes hold in my gut. I don’t think I can even muster the words to explain what this means to me. It’s not just words. It’s physical proof. “You really did have feelings for me . . . even back then.”

“From day one. From the moment I heard your voice behind that bathroom door. I told you,” he says as I pull out a drink menu from the bottom of the box. It’s the drink menu from Mamma Maria’s.

“I can’t believe you stole this.” This isn’t your average disposable paper menu. It’s encased in leather. Wheezy laughter escapes me as I hold it up, assessing its weight. “You hate keeping junk.”

“Yup. That box has been killing me,” he admits. “I keep it under my bed where I can’t see it. Out of sight, out of mind.”

I run my finger along the rim of the box. “I’m keeping this forever. You know that, right? It must be displayed prominently behind protective glass.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” He spins me around to face him, pulling me flush to his hard chest. “Now can we finally dispose of that Ex-Files box?”

“Hell to the yes.” I laugh, already spinning on my heel to grab it from my room, eager to put the past behind me.



* * *



? ? ?

THE VAPOR FROM my breath coils into the night air as I set my bare feet onto the snow-covered deck.

We toss our towels over the banister. I’ve selected my favorite pale-blue bikini with a little fabric bow tying the front together. Trevor dips in first, his gaze blazing a trail from my face all the way down to my toes. His throat ripples as I follow him into the scalding water without hesitation.

“I’m really going to miss that Flynn Rider vest.” I faux-pout as he extends his hand, tugging me closer.

He smirks. “I mean, I’m not super into role-playing, but I’m willing to make an exception.”

I mock shock. “Oh really?”

“Anything for my girlfriend.” His eyes widen, as if he’s caught himself in an embarrassing mistake. “Unless you don’t want an official label, though I assume you do—”

“Oh, I want the label,” I assure him. “But on two conditions.” I hold him at arm’s length, my palm flat against his chest, glistening with water. After everything, I decide to set some ground rules.