Funny You Should Ask(85)

“Well,” I say. “I didn’t know.”

His face is still flushed and it’s adorable. My heart feels like it’s contracting and expanding at the same time.

“I don’t know whether I should be relieved that it’s all out there or horrified that I just told you,” he says.

“It’s kind of charming,” I say. “That you wanted to, but couldn’t.”

“Hold on,” Gabe says, his hand up. “I still could have.”

The indignation in his voice makes me bite back a laugh.

“But you just said…”

He moves toward me. My laughter quickly cuts off, my mouth going dry at the look in his eyes. We’re no longer joking about something that happened ten years ago. We’re not joking at all.

“I would have needed some time, but that wouldn’t have been a problem. It won’t be a problem.” His voice is a low growl. “It’s not a problem.”

I swallow. Hard.

It’s not just about us talking about something that happened back then. It’s about what’s happening now. Between us.

Back to what has felt inevitable since I accepted this assignment.

“It’s not a problem?” I ask, even though I know I’m poking the bear.

I’m wobbly and nervous and not one hundred percent sure that this isn’t a terrible life-altering mistake, but I also know that this is it.

Gabe might not be in a rush, but all of a sudden, I am.

After all, it’s been ten years.

He looks at me.

“It’s not a problem,” he says. “With you, I…”

“You…?”

“I want you,” Gabe says. “I’ve wanted you. Since the first moment.”

It’s so simple and direct.

“Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”

He blinks.

“Okay?”

I nod.

“Okay.”

We stare at each other for a moment, the tension crackling between us. Then, as if it’s nothing, as if it’s something we do all the time, Gabe reaches out and puts his hand on my elbow. It’s enough to make me unfurl, his arms coming up around my back, holding me against his body, my chest pressed to his.

Then he leans his head down and kisses me.

It’s soft, soft the way a first kiss is soft. New. Tender.

It isn’t our first kiss, but maybe there’s some rule about fresh starts and clean slates that applies to people you haven’t kissed in a decade.

My head goes back because he’s just that tall. His palm is firm on my back, holding me there, and I think of how he dipped me in the club, how I trusted him then and how I have to trust him now.

Trust that he won’t drop me.

One hand unwinds itself from behind me, his palm tracing up my arm, curving over my shoulder before it displaces my hair to get at my jaw. And wow. Nothing has ever felt as good as the brush of his fingers against that sensitive skin along the side of my neck.

His lips are still on mine, resting there, not kissing but not not-kissing. Like a placeholder. A promise.

He draws his thumb against the curve beneath my chin and I sigh.

It changes everything.

We collide into each other, as if we were at opposite ends of the room, racing into each other’s arms, instead of already wrapped up like a pair of horny octopuses. Octopi?

That hand on my cheek moves my head into position, tilting it into Gabe’s palm so our lips can meet like puzzle pieces. My tongue is in his mouth as my hands reach under his shirt, and none of it is enough.

This isn’t what happened ten years ago. There’s no fumbling now. No hesitation. We’re not going to stop. We’re going to go all the way.

Still cupping my head, Gabe’s other hand careens down my back, right into my jeans, bypassing everything underneath and gripping my ass with a possessiveness that’s unbearably sexy. He tugs upward and I climb him, wrapping my legs around his waist.

We’re older now, and it’s clear that both of us know exactly what we want and there’s something so very hot about that. About that knowledge. That history. That experience.

He’s solid and strong and I can feel his muscles tense and adjust to my weight as he carries me across the living room and into his bedroom. It feels almost like a movie until he trips and all but throws me onto the bed, falling in after. I smack my head on his collarbone, and he grunts as he holds himself back on shaking arms, then laughs as I pull him down against me.

We kiss, our hands moving up and down, finding fabric and occasionally skin, moving, moving, moving, like we’re trying to start a fire. My legs are trembling.

Gabe is having difficulty with my shirt.

“I just…these fucking…goddamn buttons,” he mutters, his fingers fumbling, the backs of his hands haphazardly brushing against my breasts, making me wiggle, which in turn makes it even more difficult to get the shirt undone. “Can I just…please…can I…?”

I don’t exactly know what he’s asking but I don’t exactly care.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah.”

He gives me a grin, equal parts wicked and boyish, and before I really realize what’s happening, he grips the sides of my shirt and pulls. Buttons scatter, the fabric rips. And my shirt is gone.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he says.